


Revelations

by Niamh



Series: Originsverse [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 10:45:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 78
Words: 294,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niamh/pseuds/Niamh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Second Book in the Originsverse, starts roughly a month after Build a Bridge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Day in the Life

**Author's Note:**

> In every story, there’s a beginning, a middle and an ending. This then is the middle; whether or not this also constitutes the end remains to be seen. The title comes from that English band, you know the one – four guys?; and the quotes are as attributed. Standard disclaimers apply throughout this story.

  
  
**Previously:** Almost a month and a half ago, Willow did the highly improbable and brought Buffy back from the dead, ripping her from heaven in the process.  Unfortunately, Willow neglected to retrieve her nicely, forcing Buffy to dig herself out of her own grave.  Spike found her immediately following and brought her home.  They are now openly living together, with the blessings of Giles and Dawn, while Tara and Willow’s relationship has hit the skids.  Willow was forced to leave the Summers’ house, after giving Angel a head’s up about Buffy’s return, her manipulation of Tara being the real reason behind their split.  This opens up. . . well, you’ll see.  
  
 _ **Book Two  
Chapter 1.  A day in the life  
  
  
The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible  
and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening.    
It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of  
the rainbow which I have clutched.  
    Henry David Thoreau, Writings, vol. 2, p 239  
  
He hath a daily beauty in his life.  
    Othello, act v, sc. 1**_  
  
  
  
Three weeks of peace amid the onslaught of life on the hellmouth.  In that time, those precious three weeks, life in their house had settled into a semblance of normalcy.  Well, as normal as a household consisting of the Vampire Slayer, her vampire boyfriend, her Key sister, and an every-day garden variety witch could be.  
  
Not long after Willow had moved out, Tara had opted to move into Spike’s basement bedroom just to get away from the memories, and with Spike’s help she’d transformed the room into something a bit more her style than his.  
  
Joyce’s old bedroom was now empty, devoid of all furniture and the two girls were still trying to come to an agreement about what to do with the room.  Spike was doing his best to stay out of the argument, knowing if he were to side with either of the sisters his love life would get that much more complicated.  
  
Dawn had been uncharacteristically quiet in the last few weeks, which was prompting his current mission.  She was once again locked in her room, ignoring everything and everyone around her.  Spike had no idea if this was normal for Dawn or a teen-aged girl, just adding to his unrest about the whole situation.  Didn’t matter, because either way he was more than a little concerned and since Buffy was out with Tara, he figured it was a perfect opportunity to get Dawn to open up to him about what was bugging her.  
  
Which was why he was knocking at her door, just before three in the afternoon.  “Dawn?”  
  
He tried again, “Niblet?  I know you’re in there, wanna talk to you ‘bout somethin’.”  
  
The stereo lowered and then the floor creaked under her feet, the lock clicked open and there she stood, hip thrown out to one side and a slight defensively defiant look on her face.  
  
“Need to talk to you, Bit, got a moment?”  Spike leaned against the door jamb, his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for her to invite him in to talk.  
  
“Spike, I’m in the middle of doing my homework, is this important?”  Dawn shifted from one foot to another avoiding his direct gaze.  
  
Not accepting her implied dismissal, Spike pushed past her into the bedroom.  He glanced once at her bed, taking at face value the spread of books and paperwork strewn across the covers, not bothering to look any closer.  
  
“Bit,” he started, then turned around, peering at her closely, “Is everythin’ okay?”  
  
“What do you mean?”  She sat on the edge of her bed, trying not to disturb the papers.  
  
“Been awfully quiet lately.  Somethin’ eatin’ at you?”  
  
“Nope.” Then, changing her mind, she said, “Well, school’s kind of hard, I’m not . . .” She shrugged, trying to convey part of her confusion.  
  
“Not fittin’ in?”  He rested back against her desk watching her closely.  
  
“Partially, still got Janice and . . . well, Kirsten’s not in any of my classes, in fact I hardly see her anymore and Janice has a boyfriend and I don’t really like him and I get this creepy feeling sometimes that someone’s watching me and I just don’t fit in and all my classes are super hard and I just . . .”  Her voice trailed off into nothing and she kept her head down studying her feet.  
  
He was silent for long minutes waiting for her to spill whatever else was bothering her.  He knew there was more to this, just by the way she was holding herself.  
  
She’d read three of the four journals cover to cover and had a fairly extensive amount of notes on other slayers and Spike.  But little on her own background.  The most recent journal she had ended before Buffy was born, so she doubted there was a whole lot of information in that one.  She was just about to start reading the last journal when Spike had knocked on her door.  
  
Dawn kept her eyes down, away from his all too perceptive gaze.  The absolute last thing she wanted to talk about was really the only thing on her mind – well, that and Buffy.  
  
“You’re not upset about me movin’ in are you?”  Spike, for once, didn’t know what was wrong with Dawn.  Since she wasn’t talking, he could only guess it was their living arrangements that were bothering her, especially since she clammed up about the same time Willow officially moved out.  
  
“No!”  Dawn looked up at him then, “You’ve been here all summer, why would it bother me now?”  
  
“Because of where I’m sleepin’.”  
  
She snorted, “Gee, Spike, how long have you been in love with Buffy?”  Waving off his retort, Dawn giggled, “So not upset by that.  Saw that coming when you brought her back and she was all cling-to-Spike girl.”  
  
Giggling harder at his look, Dawn said, “Seriously not so worried ‘bout that, I’m just glad she’s back, you know?  Just wish she wasn’t so. . . is she gonna get any better?”  
 _  
So that was her problem_ – Buffy.  His girls weren’t as close as they were before and Dawn was feeling the lack of sister time.  
  
“Getting better every day, Bit.  Still hard for her and with Rupert going back home for a bit, it’s bound to bother her.”  
  
“She doesn’t talk about things with me.”  Dawn’s disappointment was hard to disguise, not that she was trying all that hard.  
  
Spike sighed.  “Sis doesn’t like to talk about it at all.  S’like it’s jus’ too hard.  Can’t imagine what heaven must have been like, don’t imagine I’ll ever find out either.”  
  
Moving around a bit, Spike continued, “Give her time, Bit, she’ll open up.”  Looking at her once more, he said, “Is ‘at all?”  
  
“Well . . . there is a guy. . .” and giggled at the look on Spike’s face.  
  
He growled once, then said through semi-clenched teeth, “Bring him round.  Lemme suss things out, yeah?”  
  
“I’m hoping he’ll ask me to homecoming.”  
  
On his way out the door, Spike repeated, “Bring him round.  Then I’ll think about it.”  
  
Once he was gone, Dawn locked the door behind him, diving back into her notes and the last journal.  
  
The one thing weighing heavily on her mind – though she’d never tell Spike, at least not until she had more proof than she had right now, was that she was convinced Spike was her father.  Her biological mother was still not certain.  It could have been either Joyce or Buffy.  She was thinking – _hoping_ it wasn’t Joyce.  
  
Not that there was any doubt in her mind about how the monks had done it – it had to have been magic, because as far as she knew, vampires couldn’t have babies.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Five hundred years of existence, or nearly so, had not prepared her for any of this.  Hands, feet, legs, everything –  _belly, god what a belly_ , every last little part of her ached.  But for all that pain, this was such a miracle.  And it was all in danger.  By her very nature she put this child inside her in danger’s path.  Once the infant was born, his soul would remain with him and she would once again be herself.  
  
Soulless.  
  
Once upon a time she’d killed infants like the one she carried, slain their mothers while the babies struggled within their wombs or cried helplessly amidst the slaughter, blood, and gore.  She hadn’t known.  
  
Hadn’t understood what she’d done.  
  
Darla understood it all now.  
  
The enormity of over four hundred years of murder and wanton destruction weighed heavily upon her.  Crushed her with near constant waves of overwhelming guilt and grief.  Tears were her ever present companion – no solace to be found anywhere.  
  
No absolution.  
  
No forgiveness.  
  
Her belly thumped, a hand or foot pushing against her taut skin, stretching it further out from the inside.  Darla ran a soothing hand over the lump, humming softly to herself and the baby through her tears.    
  
Time was running short.  This baby, this boy-child created by her and Angel . . . this completely undeserved miracle – would be born – and soon.  
  
And Darla didn’t want to let him go.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy was meeting Tara at UC Sunnydale, since the Slayer had decided she might want to think about going back to school for the next semester.   Just thinking about it.  She wasn’t really sure she was ready for it.  
  
There was a lot she wasn’t ready for, but having everyone’s support was a big help – from Giles giving Spike a job to Tara cooking nightly to Dawn not acting out, was good.  
  
The myth that vampires slept all day had been shattered by Spike’s ability to function on a couple of hours every morning.  So he was usually up when she woke up, and though he was prone to napping around eleven, he was awake again no later than two.  Since Giles had offered him the job, Spike was at the Magic Box by three, working until seven or so.  So, if they kept to that pattern, come the next semester, provided she got scholarship money, she could take classes from ten until three, which fit in nicely.  
  
Which was a huge if.  _Right now_ , Buffy thought, _if I have to make a decision, it’s a world of no._  
  
UC Sunnydale wasn’t a huge campus, not by a long shot, not by anyone’s standards, and yet here she was, in the main quad completely overwhelmed and trying to stop herself from wigging.    Too many people milling around, bumping into her and _Oh! God!  Parker Abrams, that slug!_ had just walked right by her.  Thank god he hadn’t seen her.  
  
“Buffy?”  
  
 _Oh no, no, nonono. . ._ Whirling around at the sound of her name, she stopped short, literally, at the sight before her eyes.  
  
“Oz?”  
  
“Hey,” He smiled slightly at her stunned expression.  
  
“Hey.  How are you?  When did you get back - where’ve you been?  What have you been doing?”  Nervous babbling filled the air around them.  
  
Pulling on his arm she moved them out of the flow of foot traffic.  His replies were mumbled as they moved.  “Okay.  Couple of weeks.”  
  
At her confused look, he just raised an eyebrow.  She smiled brightly, relieved to have found a familiar safe face to stave off the panic.  
  
“Sorry, I’m babble-girl.”  
  
He gave her his patented Oz grin, consisting of no more than just a mere raised lip and sat down on the bench next to her.  
  
“Got back a couple of weeks ago.  Hooked up with the band.  Been playing some gigs.”  He squinted into the sunshine then continued, “What’s new?”  
  
Buffy giggled nervously – _what a can of worms that question is_.  “Um . . . well, lots.  Where do you want me to start?”  
  
There was one thing on his mind and both of them knew it, yet both were afraid to bring it up for completely different reasons.  
  
It was into that awkward moment Tara stepped into view, calling, “Hey, Buffy.”  
  
Oz stiffened beside her, recognizing the other girl.  
  
“Oh.”  Tara shared a look with Buffy then greeted him.  “Hey, Oz. How. . . how are you?”  
  
“Good.”  He started to get up, but Buffy placed a hand on his arm.  “Oz, this is Tara,” and blurting out what was suddenly on all their minds, “Tara, who is no longer Willow’s girlfriend.”  
  
“Whoa.”  It spoke volumes that Oz actually raised his voice a bit.  
  
Tara ducked her head smiling at Buffy’s blunt declaration.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
They sat there, frozen for a moment until Buffy said, “Come home and have dinner with us.”  
  
Looking from one girl to the other, Oz thought for a moment, then shook his head in agreement.  Free food sounded good.  “Sure.”  
  
“Gotta make a stop first and then we’ll head home, okay with you?”  Buffy asked cheerfully, happy now that this was going better.  
  
“Sure.”  He shrugged, pretty much willing to go with the flow.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike was in the basement, packing orders, getting them ready for shipping when he heard the bell tinkle upstairs indicating some new arrival.  Glancing at the clock on the wall, he dropped one last handful of bio-degradeable filler into the box, sealed it with packing tape, slapped an address label on it and headed up the stairs to greet his woman.  
  
Buffy was chattering animatedly to someone he couldn’t see and his nose couldn’t identify.  It wasn’t Tara because he could see her talking with Giles, while Anya was finishing a sale.  Spying him before anyone else, she smiled then went right back to the customer.  
  
He watched his golden girl, a smile playing on his features.  Whoever she was talking to she was comfortable with, apparently considering whoever it was a friend, because she was chattering away like he hadn’t seen her do since before her mother died.  
  
Leaning against the counter, Spike just watched her, drinking in her presence.  Every day he marveled at her, how she accepted him into her life and how far she’d come since those first awful days back from the dead.  
  
Buffy paused in her almost monologue, no longer ignoring the tingles his presence set off within her.  Deciding she wanted to tease him a little, Buffy flipped her hair, then wiggled her hips a little, stretching her arms up over her head.  
  
That strip of skin at the small of her back exposed by her stretch beckoned him.  Her scent engulfed him as her emotions strengthened.  Stalking up behind her, Spike knew she felt him because her body shifted, urging him closer.  
  
Still standing away from her, Spike reached out a finger, running it across that stretch of skin.  Goose bumps raised themselves at his touch and Buffy fought the shiver of arousal running through her muscles.  
  
His hand brushed around her waist, pulling her back against him.  Nuzzling into her hair, Spike whispered, “Hello, cutie.”  
  
Buffy leaned further back against him, her hand caressing his, their fingers entwining.  
  
Watching the display in front of him, Oz realized things had really changed.  He wasn’t sure at first, but as he watched them his eyes confirmed what his sense of smell had deduced.  Oz almost didn’t believe it when he’d caught a glimpse of Spike watching Buffy, a different kind of predatory gleam in his eyes.  
  
Sighing a bit, Buffy turned in Spike’s embrace, her arms automatically spiraling around his neck, her whispered, “Hello, yourself,” sending a thread of arousal through him.  
  
Realizing their audience was staring, Buffy kissed Spike, then reluctantly broke from his embrace.  
  
“Spike, you remember Oz, right?”  
  
 _Ahhh_ , now he did.  _Willow’s dogboy._    
  
“Oz, I’m sure you remember Spike.”  
  
Spike leaned over to shake the other man’s hand saying, “Welcome back.”  
  
If Oz was surprised by the change in Spike it didn’t show.  Then again, Oz was never one for huge emotional expressions.  
                      
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The last journal was finished.  She’d read it from cover to cover.  Unfortunately, it did nothing to further her quest.  The good news was Giles was leaving tomorrow, going back to England because the Council was demanding his presence.  That meant she’d be able to sneak into his apartment and steal another couple of books.  
  
He wasn’t happy about it, but he really didn’t have much choice, since he was going for two  reasons that she was aware of anyway, only one of which the Council was aware of.  She’d overheard Giles telling Spike he was going to try and get the Council to give Buffy a stipend so she wouldn’t have to go get a job, not that Spike wasn’t earning enough, but so things would be a bit better.  
  
Between Tara’s housing grant, Spike’s weekly poker winnings and now the job with the Magic Box, money wasn’t so tight.  She got a check monthly from Social Services, but the adults had decided not to dip into what they were calling her college fund unless things got  dire.  
  
Which was cool.  
  
But right now Dawn was frustrated.  And so not happy.  So when the phone rang, she wasn’t at all pleasant-girl, until she realized who was on the other end.  
  
So when he asked if she wanted to go to homecoming with him, she played it cool, until she hung up the phone.  Then, and only then, was when she squealed high enough to shatter glass.


	2. Clutching Stardust

_**Book Two, chapter 2.  Clutching stardust  
  
Any idiot can face a crisis – it’s day to day living that wears you out.  
    Anton Chekov  
  
Unbeing dead is not being alive.  
    e. e. cummings  
  
Life is easier than you’d think;   
all that is necessary is to accept the impossible,   
do without the indispensable,  
and bear the intolerable.  
    Kathleen Norris**_  
  
  
  
Filling Oz in on what had been going on since his departure had left the werewolf more than a little confused.  But, in typical fashion, he’d just taken it all in stride without commenting on any of it.  
  
During the course of dinner, Oz discovered what had happened to Faith, learned about the arrival and subsequent departure of Riley (at least more than he’d known before); about Dawn and Glory.  Hearing about Joyce had made a small frown appear on his face, but hearing about Buffy’s death and Willow’s part in her return had disturbed him nearly as much as it had the others.  And now, Spike was living here, openly part of a couple with Buffy.  Even with all that, for Oz, the really wiggy part of the whole evening was discovering how much he actually liked Tara.  
  
There hadn’t been much opportunity for bonding during his last visit, hadn’t been much desire for it either.  He’d watched her while they ate, seeing how comfortable everyone was, how much they were a family unit.  Tara was the glue that held them together.  He liked that, could appreciate it even.  
  
He found himself wishing it wasn’t time to go when dinner was done and Buffy and Spike were getting ready to patrol.  
  
Which kind of explained how he and Tara ended up talking most of the night, until it was nearly one in the morning, and why Buffy invited him to sleep on the couch when they’d gotten in a few minutes later.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
They still hadn’t been able to dispatch the Cwn Annwn, though the nightly attacks had begun to dwindle.  The number of bodies had dropped also, down to one or two per attack, instead of the four or five previously.  
  
Further research was another reason Giles was returning to England and despite Buffy’s protestations otherwise, Giles knew he had to go.  
  
Besides, it wasn’t a permanent move.  This was just, at least in his eyes, a fact finding trip.  The Council wanted a report from him and he needed information  – and concessions – from them.  Unfortunately his list probably exceeded theirs by about five.  Wesley had requested Giles scan the library for vampire pregnancies, which Spike had seconded, then there was the Cwn Annwn and Willow’s ritual and . . . he needed also, to know what, if anything, the Council knew about the monks.  
  
What he’d read so far convinced him that the monks had predated Christianity by at least a millennia, subverting themselves by allowing their absorption into the Church for protection during the Middle Ages – when the Inquisition was in full swing.  The order had been formed, or so it seemed, for one purpose – to guard the Key and the gates from Glorificus and any other being with enough power and hubris to try wielding the Key.  
  
Though the Council had stated they had shared what information they possessed, Giles was not convinced of their honesty, which was why he had no intention of revealing the extent of his need for information.  At least not until he got some indication which way the wind was blowing; whether they’d offer to support Buffy and to what extent.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Oz woke to the sound of slightly raised voices.  It sounded like Spike and Dawn were going at it in the kitchen.  Unable to fall back asleep, Oz listened, getting an idea about how close they were.  They sounded like any parent and child discussing dates, which was kind of weird, considering Spike wasn’t Dawn’s father.  
  
“Told you, wasn’t going to say yea or nay wi’ out meetin’ the boy.”  
  
Something landed hard on a counter and Oz winced at the pitch of Dawn’s voice.  “Why do you have to?  It’s not like I’m gonna marry the guy.  It’s just homecoming.”  
  
“Dawn, what’s his name?”  It was hard to miss Spike’s exasperation with the teenager.  
  
“Casey.”  
  
There was silence, then a deep sigh, and the girl spoke again.  “Fine.  I’ll do it.  But no going all ggggrrrrr on me okay?”  
  
“Let you know about that.”  
  
And apparently the conversation was over, because silence once again reigned.  Oz rolled over and went back to sleep.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
They took turns getting up in the morning, making sure Dawn got up in time for school, and this morning it had been his turn.  Dawn had ambushed him about homecoming once she was dressed and ready to go, telling him only that the boy she wanted to ask her had.  
  
Trudging back up the stairs to curl in beside Buffy, Spike ran a hand through his hair.  He knew what Dawn was up too, it was fairly obvious.  With his approval it would be that much easier to get Buffy to agree, however he wasn’t going to cave on this issue.  Spike was adamant about meeting the snot first and if he made it through his ridiculously long check list, Spike would allow her to go.  
  
Sitting on the side of the bed, Spike untied his boots, dropping them heavily on the floor, trying yet trying not to wake Buffy.  She stirred, moving under the blankets but didn’t wake up.  Sliding off his jeans, Spike lifted the cotton sheet and blanket off her.  Flesh colored lace with a faint tinge of lilac barely covered her rounded butt cheeks.  
  
He grinned at the sight, his fingers grazing across the slope of her upper thigh, whisking over each globe.  Buffy shifted one leg, bending it upwards, lifting her ass in the air.  Spike took it for an unconscious invitation.  Playing his fingers gently over her skin, Spike allowed his other hand to push up the scrap of lace she dared to call a nightgown.  It barely covered her, leaving little for his imagination, constructed of two thin strips of ribbon and stretchable lace.  It was one of his favorite articles of her clothing.  
  
Moving closer to her, Spike grinned as she moved into him, her face turning toward him.  Barely there touches grazed her from behind, raising gooseflesh all over her back.  Her legs twitched, her mound pressing against the mattress, a tiny whimper escaping her throat.  His grin widened.  Teasing both of them he ran his fingers over her softly, slowly, his fingers moving ever closer to her molten core.  She was liquid fire, especially there, burning hot.  Buffy’s hips shifted again, quivering under his touch.  The whimper morphed into a soft whine as she swam toward waking.  
  
Spike wiggled two fingers around her center.  “God, kitten. . . so wet. . .”  
  
His words breathed across her shoulder, answered by her sleepy murmur.  “Open up for me, love, let me in. . .”  
  
Shifting a bit so he was looming over her, his mouth by her ear, he rumbled her name deep in his chest.  “Buffy.”  
  
Sleepily she responded to his intimate touch, her eyes drifting open as he slowly, almost lazily thrust his fingers inside her.  Her eyes opened, his name escaping from her lips, seeking his.  
  
“Mmmm. . .  There she is. . . my sweet one.”  
  
Buffy gasped into the pillow beneath her, arching her bottom into the air, writhing slowly with each thrust.  “Spike,” she practically moaned his name as he knelt between her thighs, his hand lifting her.  
  
“Want you . . . want to be inside you . . . gonna let me in?”  He leaned over her back, his words spoken against lace covered skin interspersed with nipping kisses.  “C’mon, beautiful girl . . .”  
  
“Spike . . . please.”  She was barely awake, sensations drowning her, his touch igniting her from the inside.  
  
Still using only his fingers, Spike brought her to the edge, drawing her back as he raked his fingers from her warmth.  Buffy’s hips were churning, seeking friction, penetration . . . something. . . “Please Spike. . .”  
  
Pulling her back over his legs, Spike opened his knees, spreading her legs apart.  His cock nudged at her from behind, making her whimper with need.  His strong hands held her still, lifting her onto his hard length.  
  
His name hissed in the air, ending in a half shriek as he slid all the way inside her.  “Spike.  Oh, god. . . oh. . .”  
  
The grunts in her ear were driving her insane, his voice repeating her name over and over as he drove into her from behind, filling her up, hitting her exactly where she needed him. “Oh, god, Spike . . . please. . . need . . to. . .”  
  
Buffy grabbed the iron bars in front of her.  He was pounding into her now, hard and fast and “Spike. . . oh. . .”  
  
A deep growl sounded from her throat surprising him into stilling his movements.  A breathless chuckle sounded in her ear as he nibbled on the nape of her neck.    
  
“Love,” he thrust hard, “come with me.”    
  
“So . . . god, kitten. . . love you.”  Slow, hard grind of his pelvis into hers.    
  
She writhed against him, seeking more, “Please . . . now. . . Spike.”  
  
“Buffy . . . love you . . . beautiful girl. . .”   Thrusting hard and fast again, Spike lost all pretense of control when her inner muscles constricted around him.    
  
His blunt teeth bit down hard on that spot where her neck met her shoulder and Buffy groaned in response.   “Spike . . . wanna see you. . .”  
  
Growling low in his throat, Spike slid from her depths and she rolled over to face him.  Spike’s mouth was on hers instantly, their tongues battling against each other, his hard length sliding into her again.  Wrapping around, her arms encircled his neck, holding on tight.   
  
“Look at me, kitten.”    
  
“Oh, god. . . oh, god . . . Spike. . . need you. . . want.” For once, Buffy was nearly as vocal as he was.  
    
Her eyes never leaving his, Buffy bore down, convulsing around him.  Staring into each other’s eyes, they exploded together.  His whispered words echoed around her, “Love you so much, Buffy.”  
  
Sliding down sideways onto the mattress, Spike lifted her hip over his, pulling her against his chest.   “So much.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Oz woke up for good sometime mid-morning to find the house quiet again.  There was a note on top of his clothing from Tara.  Reading it, he finally understood what had attracted Willow to Tara.  She wasn’t the hottest looking girl around, but looks weren’t much really if you weren’t a beautiful person underneath.  And Tara was.    
  
There were homemade muffins and fresh coffee in the kitchen.  All he had to do was turn the coffee maker on.  
  
Wandering into the kitchen he found everything where the note said it would be. _She’s really thoughtful, kind, caring.  I get it now, with Willow._ Tara was not safe, but comforting.  Something about her just drew the other person in, making the other person feel terribly important.  
  
The phone ringing pulled him from his reverie and he thought about answering it, though he didn’t want to overstep his bounds.  Didn’t really matter, because it stopped after three rings and the answering machine didn’t pick up, so he assumed that either Buffy or Spike had answered.  Ten minutes later feet pounded down the stairs and Oz wasn’t surprised when a slightly disheveled Spike entered the kitchen.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“Mornin,’” moving toward the refrigerator, Spike motioned to the coffee pot, “How much is in there?”  
  
 “Dunno.  Tara set it up.”  Oz watched him pour some blood into a mug then pop it into the microwave.  
  
“Right, should be enough for all of us.”  Waiting a beat, Spike asked, “Sleep all right?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Good then.”  
  
They stayed in comfortable silence until Buffy made her way downstairs, water dripping from her almost dry hair.  
  
She smiled in appreciation when Spike handed her a mug of coffee, exclaiming, “Ooh, caffeine-y goodness.”  
  
Spike rolled his eyes, hiding his grin at her good mood behind is own cup.  Figuring now was as good a time as any, he mentioned Dawn’s impending date, then watched his girl panic.  
  
“What?”  Huffing a bit, she said, “A world of no.   She’s not ready . . . no.  I’m not ready.”  Blowing cool air across the surface of her mug, Buffy said.  “No.  So not ready for this – does she have to?”  
  
“Bit wants to go.  She’s bringing him round so we can meet ‘im.”  
  
Buffy made a face, thinking about this.  “Spike, she’s too young.”  
  
“She’s fifteen.  ‘s not too young.”  Spike waited for her to get to the point on her own.  
  
She huffed again, giving in before his steady gaze.  “All right.  We’ll meet him.”  Grabbing one of the muffins, Buffy turned her attention to Oz, asking, “Did you sleep okay?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“We’re headed to Giles’.  He’s going to England today.  You need a ride?”    
  
“That’s cool.  You can drop me near campus.”  
  
Spike locked the back door then rinsed out his bloody mug and headed for the stairs, saying, “Car should be unlocked but check before I run out there.”  
  
Buffy went out the front door, opened the driver’s side of the DeSoto, then ran back into the house.  Oz followed out the door, watching their crazy ritual.  Every window on the DeSoto was blacked out, with bare strips in the windshield and on the side and rear windows, so that Spike could see out the mirrors.  
  
Spike dashed out the door, covered in a dark blanket, hit the seat and slammed the driver’s door behind him.  Buffy giggled a bit at Oz’ expression, saying, “It’s an adventure” as she locked the front door behind them.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Xander was running himself ragged.  Between his job, planning the wedding – that was still a secret –  with Anya, and now trying to spend time with Willow, he didn’t know if he was coming or going.  
  
And he didn’t know if it was his imagination, or just the weirdness of life in Sunnydale but it felt like stuff was going on around him that he just didn’t understand.  Stuff with Willow, _coz she was just getting more and more un-Willowy_.  She was talking to Amy – Amy the rat and sometimes he thought she expected an answer.  And Willow was always reading, okay, so that wasn’t really unusual, but he wasn’t so sure about what she was reading.  
  
A couple of times he’d picked up special packages for her and the return address labels kind of spooked him – like this last one that was sitting in his car – was from Haiti and well, he didn’t think she knew anyone from there. . .  _And don’t they practice Voodoo down there?_  
  
He just wasn’t sure what she was up too.  And he was kind of concerned, because he really wasn’t sure there was anyone he could talk to about all this – because he’d only seen Buffy a couple of times since they threw Willow out and Spike was always with her and he still didn’t trust the guy.  
  
Anya didn’t want to hear about Willow either, or rather she was so focused on their wedding and Giles leaving that he just couldn’t talk to her about it.    
  
In fact, he was finding it hard to talk to Anya at all.  
  
He wished he had someone to talk to, because all this was just confusing him too much.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy watched as Giles walked toward the boarding area, her hands clenched together in front of her, a pained expression on her face.  
  
Spike wrapped his arms around her from behind, his chin resting on her head.  “He’s comin’ back.  Only goin’ for a month or so.”  
  
“Is he?”  Her voice was papery-thin and bleak.  
  
“Said he was.  Got no reason to doubt him.”  He pulled her closer, his arms tight around hers.  Buffy relaxed into his embrace, gathering strength from his proximity.  
  
“Yeah.  I guess you’re right.”  She sighed but didn’t move at all, just basking in his nearness.  Tilting her head to the side, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye.  “Have I thanked you yet?”  
  
“For what?”  She had his attention now.  
  
“Everything you do for me.  And Dawn.”  Buffy turned slightly in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder.  “Dunno how I would’ve managed.  Don’t think it would’ve been pretty.”  
  
“You’d’ve figured somethin’ out, pet.”  He kissed the end of her nose, saying, “C’mon, Slayer, I’ve got to go to work.  Demon girl’s looking for a night of girl stuff.”  
  
They headed out of the airport, toward the dark parking garage, not knowing about the wispy redhead following them.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She was meeting Casey at five and then together they were going into the Magic Box so Spike could meet him.  That meant she had an hour to get into Giles’ and find some new journals.  This time she was going to be very specific about what she took.  
  
Dawn was done with taking chances.  She needed to know.  Sooner rather than later.  
  
Unlocking the door, Dawn cautiously let herself into the apartment.  She loved it here, it always smelled so good.  She supposed that was because Giles always had good things around him.   Old books, good tea, and not so stinky cologne, not like some other men.  
  
Would’ve been hard not to miss the books, although since there were so many Giles had put them into a steamer trunk.  The trunk was against the inner wall, close to the television, yet far enough away from the window so that no one would notice them.  
  
Kneeling down on the floor, Dawn quickly opened the trunk, pulling out volumes.  Sorting them by language and year, she rapidly found four fairly current volumes, except for the last one – the one she needed the most.  Spying a smaller book nearly at the bottom of the pile, Dawn grabbed it.  Opening it up, she glanced at a random page and stopped.  
  
Blinking a couple of times, she went back to it.  
  
Her sister’s name stared back at her and the date on the entry was Halloween two years ago.  Snapping it closed, Dawn grabbed the others, stuffing them into her backpack.  Shoving the rest of the books back into the trunk, Dawn had to force herself to calm down.  Gulping in deep breaths, she finally calmed herself enough to stack the journals exactly as they’d been.  
  
Locking up behind her, Dawn set off to meet Casey and after that to brave the lion’s den.


	3. Indescreet questions and answers

  
  
  
_**Book Two  
Chapter 3.  Indiscreet questions and answers.  
  
An ounce of blood is worth more than a pound of friendship  
    Spanish proverb  
  
A child can ask questions that a wise man cannot answer  
    Anonymous**_  
  
      
  
  
Anya had left ridiculously detailed lists of instructions on such diverse topics that Spike had no recourse but to smile.  Buffy was reading one of the lists, an occasional giggle escaping her.  They currently had the shop to themselves, it being too early for the after work crowd just yet and the after-school college kids and suburban moms ending their shopping days.  
  
Spike looked around surprised at how empty the shop was.  That was good, because he didn’t want to have a rush.  
  
“Love?”  
  
“Yeah?”  She peeked over the edge of the list she was reading, a smile on her face.  
  
“You okay w’Niblet doin’ this?”  He had no idea why he was harping on it, except sometimes his mouth ran ahead of his brain.  
  
“I guess.  Just wasn’t really ready, but hey, it’s gonna be sooner or later, right?”  Buffy made a little face her unreadiness showing.  “She’s gonna be okay, right?”  
  
“Yeah.”  Spike was fully prepared to not allow Dawn to go if the boy proved unworthy, or if something was off, even just a little something.  
  
He was still thinking about just what kind of things he could do to the boy when the phone rang.  “Magic Box.”  
  
“May I speak with Rupert Gi . . Spike?”  
  
“Oxford?”  
  
“Yes, it’s me.  How come you are there?”  
  
“Giles left this mornin’.”  
  
“Damn.  I was hoping to catch him before he left.  He’s got his cell with him, right?”  
  
“Yeah.  Oxford, what’s goin’ on?”  Spike had picked up on the anxiety in Wesley’s voice.   
  
“Darla’s in labor.”  
  
Spike released a long breath.  “What . . . Is everythin’ normal?”  
  
Buffy had gotten up, coming closer, listening to his side of the conversation.  
  
“Unknown.  We think it’s normal but we can’t be sure.”    
  
“Keep us posted.”  
  
“Will do.”  
  
They hung up simultaneously.  
  
                                              
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Wesley wasn’t sure what constituted normal labor for a vampire – nor had he ever been present during human labor.  He had no idea about the mechanics of the process and none of the others were prepared.  However, unlike some of the other members of AI, Wesley had at least read a book on the subject.  According to their calculations, Darla was about at term, give or take a week.  Unsure what to do next since Rupert was currently incommunicado, Wesley consulted “ _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_ ” and figured they needed to eliminate false labor pains.  
  
Forcing Darla into the shower, Wesley waited, hoping this wasn’t the moment.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
They were sitting at the table talking about Wesley’s phone call, when the doorbell tinkled, signaling a new arrival.  Both of them looked up, Spike automatically getting to his feet, while Buffy stared at her sister and the boy behind her.  It was obvious to the older two that the teenagers were very nervous.  The boy stood to Dawn’s left, his hands stuffed into his pockets, while Dawn shifted her feet, her eyes darting between the two people who held the most control over her.    
  
Taking pity on her sister, Buffy said, “Hey, Dawn.”    
  
Returning the greeting, she started down the steps toward the table.  Throwing a glance over her shoulder to her prospective date, Dawn smiled at him and he followed her slowly.  “Buffy, this is Casey.”    
  
The boy Dawn was introducing had sun-streaked blond, kind of wavy hair, dark blue eyes, and braces.  He was taller than Dawn, about the same height as Spike, kind of on the thin side.  His features were even, nose not to big, forehead not to pronounced, chin not too weak.  Casey was, all in all, a typical normal teen-aged boy.  Taking him in from top to bottom, Buffy had to suppress a giggle.  He was so clearly nervous because he wouldn’t look her in the eyes at all, just kind of politely said hello.    
  
“Casey, this is my sister Buffy,” and glancing once at the still form of Spike, continued, “and her boyfriend Spike.”  
  
At the name, Casey’s head reared up, eyes widening slightly at the sight of him.  Reaching out a hand, Spike was pleased when the boy took the hint and extended his in a handshake.  “Hello, sir.”  
  
Buffy suppressed the inappropriate giggle that was threatening.  Sensing her amusement, Spike just said hello back to the boy, then sent her a pointed look.  Better the boy fear him than think he was a pushover, because this one was all human, not a scent of demon about him, and that meant Spike couldn’t do anything other than intimidate the hell out of him.  Which wasn’t hard.  
  
His raised eyebrow was enough to get the boy talking, because he said, “Dawn talks about you.  Well, both of you.”    
  
As if embarrassed about mentioning it, Casey looked over at Dawn, smiling at her.  She was struggling not to scream at both of them to not make this any harder than it already was, but she grinned a little bit when Casey realized she was struggling with her backpack and he helped her.    
  
 _Two, well, almost three points in the boy’s favor._   Spike was quickly re-assessing his original thoughts about the boy, worried that Dawn would have brought home, at worst, someone with demonic origins, if not an outright demon.   In one respect it would have been easier, because he could take care of demons but on the other, it wouldn’t have been good for Dawn or Buffy.    
  
Casey shifted his feet, nervous now that there was no conversation, unsure of what to do or say.  Throwing an uneasy glance at Dawn, he sat down after she did, his hands clasped loosely on the table in front of him.    
  
 _God, this is so awkward.  Why did he want to do this?_   Dawn sent a frosty glance at Spike, which he completely ignored.  Instead, he tried to come up with something to talk about.  
  
It was Buffy who finally broke the ice.  “Casey, did you grow up in Sunnydale?”    
  
“No, we moved here from New York about six years ago.”    
  
Spike’s ears perked up at that.  “Where ‘bouts in New York? I lived there for a bit, long time ago.”  
  
“Um, outside of the city.  We lived out on the island.”    
  
Leaning against the ladder, Spike said, “Lived down in the Village.”  
  
Buffy cleared her throat, forestalling any real sharing of Spike’s memories of Greenwich Village, and he just grinned at her, knowing full well what she was doing.    
  
“When’s this dance, Ni – Dawn?”  Spike was done with the conversation, moved to let the boy off the hook by the expression on Dawn’s face, when things started getting uncomfortable again.  
  
“Saturday,” was Casey’s answer, which surprised everyone, including himself.  
  
“Doesn’t give you much time to get ready.”  Buffy looked at him, wondering how much money this was going to cost both of them, and how much they actually had to spend on this.  
  
“I was afraid Dawn was going to say no.”  The boy looked a little embarrassed to admit it, but the smile on Dawn’s face was enough to tell Spike that he had been foolish to worry about it.    
  
“Can we go?”  This was torture and she had to get out of there, otherwise she was going to end up shrieking the shop down, piercing eardrums for a five hundred yard radius.    
  
“To the dance?”  Spike looked at the pair of them, then Buffy.  Waiting for a signal from her that she was okay with this, Spike smiled when she reached for his hand.  “One condition.”  
  
“Spike.”  Dawn’s soft whine was all she would permit herself in front of Casey, though it got her point across.  
  
“No debatin’ it.”  He crossed to where Buffy was sitting, his hands dropping to her shoulders, an implacable look on his features.  
  
Sighing loudly, she gave in.  “Okay, what is it?”  
  
“I’ll pick you up when it’s time to leave.”  
  
 _At least he’s not insisting to be there the whole time_.  “That’s it?”  It was better than what she’d first thought he was going to say or what he might have said to Casey.  Looking toward her date, she wondered what he was thinking about all this, but he stayed silent, looking to her for an okay on this condition.  “Okay, Spike.”  
  
“Good.”  He squeezed Buffy’s shoulders, gazing down at her, a smile playing about his lips.  “You girls goin’ shoppin’ then?”  
  
Knowing he’d managed to please one of the girls in his life, Spike did what he could to ease the thoughts of the other.  “C’mere, pet.”    
  
Effortlessly helping her to her feet, Spike led Buffy over to the counter, whispering the whole way.  “Watcher left some extra dosh in case we needed it.  Got it here.  Take her out for a bit, and I’ll worry ‘bout the rest later, yeah?”  
  
Winding her arms around his neck, Buffy kissed him, whispering back, “Thanks for not going so hard on her about this.”  
  
“I get a reward for bein’ good?”  He leered at her, his tongue against his teeth, mischief clear in his eyes.  
  
“Later. . . I promise.”  
  
“C’mon, Dawnie, we’re going shopping.”  Buffy collected her bag, motioning for her sister to get up.  “Casey, it was really nice to meet you.”  
  
“Thanks.”  Looking at Dawn, Casey said, “I’ll call you later, okay?”  
  
Spike watched as the girls walked out the door.  Calling the boy back to talk to him for a minute, Spike waited until the girls were gone before speaking.    
  
“Dunno what she’s told you ‘bout me, but you don’t wanna get on my bad side.  You take care of my girl, treat her right an’ you won’t have to worry ‘bout it.  Hurt her, an’” he didn’t let the demon out, though Spike did get a flinty look in his eyes, “You won’t know what hit you.”  
  
To his credit, Casey didn’t back down, didn’t flinch at all when Spike started speaking.  His only comment to Spike was, “I’ll do my best.”  
  
And Spike let him go, knowing it was the best he could do.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Instead of heading to the mall, remembering the disaster that was their first shopping expedition, Buffy headed to some of the smaller dress shops on Main Street, not too far from the Magic Box.  Dawn was trailing behind her, watching over her shoulder for Casey to leave.  She was kind of worried what Spike was gonna say to Casey when he was alone with him, knowing the vampire wasn’t going to let things go as easily as they had.  He’d just been playing nice for her sake, to not embarrass her in front of him.    
  
Finally realizing Dawn wasn’t walking beside her, Buffy turned around and headed back to where the younger girl was standing.  “Dawnie?”  
  
“He’s still in the shop.”  Turning to her sister, Dawn asked, “Do you think he’s gonna scare him?”  
  
“Maybe.  Just a little bit?”  Buffy wasn’t sure either, though as they were discussing it, the shop door opened and Casey walked out, in one piece and not looking too scared.    
  
Breathing a sigh of relief, Dawn watched as he headed off toward his house, never once realizing the girls had been watching for him the whole time.  “Let’s go.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Dealing with the smaller shops had been a smart move.  They found a dress for Dawn in the second shop, shoes and the rest in the next shop.  Easier than last time.  Buffy was so embarrassed about that, she’d made Dawn promise she wouldn’t ever tell anyone, not even Spike.    Bags in hand and a plan for dinner, they made their way back to the Magic Box, chattering excitedly at each other. Although, in the back of her mind, Buffy was still thinking about what had happened that first time, realizing she was making progress.  
  
Then, the bright lights and all the people had sent her into a panic, causing her to hyperventilate and nearly pass out in the middle of the mall.  The really embarrassing part was that she had just stood there, crying, unable to tell Dawn what was wrong and the whole time every bit of her had been screaming silently for Spike.  Dawn hadn’t known what to do either and in her confusion she’d started yelling at Buffy and the situation had just gone from bad to worse.  “Dawnie?  I’m sorry about last time.”  
  
“No biggie.  I goofed too.”  Smiling over at her, Dawn made a face.  “Guess you weren’t ready then.”  
  
“Nope.  But I had fun tonight.”   With a cheerful answering smile, Buffy continued, “Major shopping goodness, since we got everything you need.”    
  
“Yup.  Do you think Spike’s gonna wig when he sees the dress?”    
  
“Dunno.  We’ll just have to hide it from him until Saturday.”    
  
Dawn had found a dress, but it was blue, which just brought back memories of Glory and she’d balked until they found a similar dress in red, although it was more of a wine color.  She just hoped Spike wouldn’t give her a hard time about it.  
  
Three days until the dance.  “OH!  What about my hair?”  
  
Putting their heads together, the girls headed into the shop, talking about hairstyles and makeup.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Willow had watched them say goodbye to Giles in the airport, a calculating look upon her face.  She’d followed them to the Magic Box then left to head back home.  
  
One support gone.  Giles leaving was of the good.  He’d set up wards around the shop and his apartment and started setting them up around Buffy’s house.  All they did was prevent her from wandering in as invisible girl, so they weren’t even all that elaborate.  
  
But they existed.  And Willow knew they were aimed specifically at her.  
  
It wasn’t time yet.  Soon enough and she’d prove to Giles that his little wards weren’t enough to keep her out and then she’d prove to Buffy that Spike was only playing at being a good guy.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Rupert couldn’t help thinking that he was leaving too much undone.  Even though he’d checked everything more than once.  He still had that tingle at the back of his neck that always signaled bad news.  Perhaps it was just what had transpired the last time he was on a plane or perhaps it was trepidation over dealing with the Council.  
  
Or maybe it had been the look in Buffy’s eyes.  
  
She was obviously very upset at his leaving.  And nothing he’d said had reassured her in the least.  _Thank heavens for Spike._    If the other Englishman wasn’t around Giles’ fears over leaving would have increased immeasurably.  His unwavering support of Buffy in the last couple of weeks solidified Giles’ belief that the vampire would do anything to keep the girls safe.  
  
When he’d first pitched the idea of him working, Spike had just kind of looked at him strangely.  Although as he’d laid out his reasons to the younger man, Giles had seen the moment Spike understood.  
  
He was only asking Spike to do it for now, while Buffy got used to being back, and then Buffy would take over.  This way, she’d have some steady money coming in and she wouldn’t have to worry about the utilities or the mortgage.  It would also put the mail order and the shop in trusted hands.  
  
Rupert focused on the list, instead of that sense of impending doom.  It was going to be hard enough keeping things from the Council without the added distraction of worrying about what he’d left behind.  
                              
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
They were out patrolling.  Tara was downstairs studying.  It was now or never.  The wait had been too long anyway.  Dawn locked the door to her bedroom and fished out the last journal.  
  
It was easily the smallest and latest of all the books she’d chosen so far.  Closing her eyes in a silent prayer that the answers would be found within, Dawn settled herself on the bed and began to read.  
  
Four hours and thirteen minutes later, she found what she’d been searching for.  It was there.  The answers.  
  
It had been just as she’d suspected.  
  
The damn monks had engineered it all somehow.  
  
From the placing of the Gem of Amara in Sunnydale – to Spike’s discovery of it; from the Initiative capturing him – to their taking of all sorts of DNA samples.  
  
They’d done it all.  
  
Taken something of Spike’s and something of Buffy’s . . . and magically constructed her.  
  
Now that it was there in black and white and in Prior Raymond’s handwriting, Dawn almost didn’t believe it.  
  
She was theirs.  
  
Their flesh.  
  
Her blood.  
  
Dawn laid down on her bed and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is a paraphrase of Oscar Wilde (oh that man was a wit – the quote reads “Questions are never indiscreet. Answers sometimes are.”).


	4. Farewell, fair day and fading light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter are taken directly from Angel the Series, episode 53, written and directed by Tim Minear, because to do anything else would take away from the writing and the performances of the actors. The title is from the poem of the same name by Robert Louis Stevenson.

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 4.  Farewell, fair day and fading light  
  
But what minutes!    
Count them by sensation,   
and not by calendars,  
and each moment is a day.  
    Benjamin Disreali  
  
You must have been warned against letting the golden hours slip by;  
but some of them are golden only because we let them slip by.  
    James Matthew Barrie_**  
  
      
  
  
Spike was downstairs watching a repeat of an old Premier League update that was at least half a week old.  It was the second time he’d watched it, although he would rather be doing what he was than dealing with the hen party upstairs.  
  
They were making his Niblet into something else and he wasn’t so sure he liked the idea.  It was only four in the afternoon, he couldn’t imagine what was going to take this long, the dance wasn’t until seven.  No one needed three hours of prep time.  Especially not someone as pretty as his girl.  
  
He must have fallen asleep, because Premier League wasn’t on any more, some other inane program was on and the sun was already down.  Glancing at the time on the television, Spike realized it was nearly time for the pup to arrive.  
  
As if on some sort of cue, the doorbell rang.  Running a hand over his face, Spike got up and answered the door.  There he was, decked out in a penguin suit, flowers in hand.  
  
“Lo.”  
  
“Hello, sir.”  
  
Purposely not saying the words necessary for an invitation, in case the boy’s status had changed in three days, Spike just gestured him in.  
  
Casey walked inside the door, clearly nervous.  “My Dad’s outside waiting for us.”  Then he made a face and admitted, “Actually, both my parents are here.”  
  
This was such unfamiliar territory for Spike however he knew what was proper and what wasn’t.  “Bring them in.”  
  
Casey bounded out the door while Spike bellowed up the stairs.  Tara’s voice floated down as Casey and his parents came to the door.  They followed the boy in and Spike introduced himself as Will.  
  
“Girls‘ll be down in a minute.”  
  
The father, Jim, declined the offer of a drink, while the boy’s mother, Loretta, accepted his offer of iced tea.  
  
Retreating to the kitchen, leaving them alone in the living room, Spike took his time.  The longer the girls took the more agitated he was becoming.  Finally as he was done stalling, he heard footsteps on the stairs.  
  
 _Glinda._  
  
Breathing an unnecessary sigh of relief he wandered back into the living room with the mother’s drink.  Introducing Tara only ate up a few moments, and by the time he was finished, Buffy was on her way down the stairs, Dawn a few steps behind her.  
  
Glancing up at the stairs, Spike could see the strain on Buffy’s features though she tried to hide it.  He could also smell the distress and pain his girl was in.  
  
“Buffy?”  
  
She smiled at him, which was clearly taking an effort and mouthed, “Later” at him.  
  
Motioning behind her, Buffy moved out of the way, revealing an all too grown up Dawn.  Spike gulped.  
  
“Niblet?”  He almost didn’t believe his eyes.  
  
She was nervously biting her lip, waiting for his reaction.  Reaching out a hand to help her down the last steps, Spike whispered, “You’re beautiful, pet.  All grown up.”  
  
And she was.    
  
Her hair was a mass of curls, lifted away from her face, which was made up perfectly.  The curls cascading down her back were held up by jeweled clips artfully arranged around her temples.  The dress was a high neck halter gown of deep wine red and she had a matching cashmere scarf draped around her shoulders.  A tentative smile crossed her features at his words and she glanced at Buffy who smiled in answer.  
  
The next few moments were a blur of flashbulbs and good natured laughter, all of which sped past him too quickly, and then the teenagers and parents were gone.  
  
Buffy slumped against the wall while Tara sat on the stairs.  Spike looked between the two, unsure what to do next.  He watched in disbelief as Buffy crumpled to the floor, a soft sob breaking from her throat.  
  
“Kitten?”  
  
“That was so hard.”  Looking up at him from her spot on the floor, Buffy gave into the tears she’d been fighting all day.  “And I really don’t feel good.”  
  
Crouching down in front of her, Spike reached out to pull her into his arms.  “What’s wrong, sweets?”  
  
“Cramps.”  She sniffled once or twice, expecting him to get it.    
  
Unsure for a moment, Spike inhaled and immediately understood.  “Aww, sweetheart, c’mere.”  
  
Gathering her into his arms, Spike lifted her up from the floor.  “C’mon, goldilocks, into the shower with you.”  
  
Tara moved away from the stairs, letting them pass.  Watching the two of them, she called out, “I’m heading out, I’ll be home later.”  
  
And they were alone.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
It was dark now, only the bright artificial lights illuminating the night sky.  There was a steady breeze up here, but that was only because of the height of the building.  Darla watched the night sky around her, hand cradling her huge belly, tears in her eyes.  She felt him approach, his scent assaulting her over-sensitive nose.    
  
He spoke without looking at her.  “You always did love a view.”  
  
She returned the favor, her eyes on the distant lights, the faint smell of car exhaust and palm trees wafting in the air around them.  “Can you smell it?  This world.  This horrible world.   Why would anyone want to bring a baby into it?”  
  
He sighed a little bit, turning to look at her.  “To make it better, maybe?”  
  
Darla laughed ironically.  “Or to destroy it finally.”  
  
Angel got irritated with her, just as he’d been getting with everyone else, since word of the ‘ _prophecy_ ’ had surfaced.  He wasn’t so sure the prophecy even applied to this baby, so why was everyone else insisting it?  “Why is it everyone insists on planning my son’s future before he’s even born?”  
  
Moving away from him, Darla tried to escape his presence, escape everything.  This is not what she had thought would happen, never even dreamed it once, probably not even when she was human, all those long centuries ago.  And recently?  She’d had a few other things on her mind more pressing than babies and a future.  “It doesn’t have a future.  Not with me.”  
  
“Angel, I can’t have this baby.”  
  
He was floored.  It was a little late to be thinking those kind of thoughts.  “What?”  
  
“I can’t let it out.  I . . . just. . . I can’t.”  The tears she’d been fighting finally surfaced, pooling in her eyes.  At his look, she continued, “I know.  It wants out.  I can feel it.  It’s ready.  It’s time. . . but I just can’t let it.  I can’t let it because. . . because. . .”  
  
Angel finally understood.  Or at least thought he did.  “You love it.”  
  
Shaking her head in agreement, Darla fought the tears clogging her throat.  “I don’t think I’ve ever loved anything as much as this life that’s inside of me.”  
  
It was almost funny.  If the situation had been any different, Darla admitting she loved their baby would have been funny.  But it wasn’t.  “You’ve never loved anything or anyone, Darla.”  
  
“I never did, til now.”  She brushed aside his somewhat nasty comment, knowing it was the truth, though no longer having the strength to fight about it.  “I don’t know what to do.”    
  
“You do what you have to do.  You’ll have it and then . . .” Angel was at a loss for a further explanation.  He knew what he wanted, what he hoped for, but he wasn’t sure at the moment that any of this was possible.  It hardly seemed _impossible_ either.  
  
She snorted a little bit in disbelief at his naivety.  “What, we’ll raise it?  Be a happy family?”  
  
“Why not?”  His response almost made her laugh.   
  
“Why _not_?  Angel, have you been paying attention?  I’ve nothing to offer this child.  Nothing.  Nothing but an ugly death.”  He was so blinded by the miracle that he wasn’t seeing anything in terms of reality.  It was her job, her responsibility to point those things out.  She had too, for the sake of this baby.  
      
“No.  What I do know is that you love this baby.  Our baby.  You’ve bonded with it.  You’ve spent nine months carrying it, nourishing it . . .”  
  
Darla laughed through her tears.  “No. . . no.  I haven’t been – I haven’t given this baby a thing.  I’m dead.  I can’t nourish him.  It’s been nourishing me.  These feelings. . . that I’m having, they’re not mine.  They’re coming from it. . .”  
  
Angel was willing to dispute that.  He knew she had some feelings, he was sure of it.  “No.  You don’t know that.”  
  
Shaking her head in disagreement, Darla said, “Of course I know it.  We both do.  I don’t have a soul.  It does.  And the soul . . that soul is inside of me, but soon it won’t be and then. . .”  
  
Her tears finally, completely broke, sliding down her face.  Her voice sounded a soft sob and she looked so wretched and distraught there was nothing for it but to hold her.  “I won’t be able to love it.  I won’t even _remember_ that I loved it.  Won’t remember how to. . . and I want to remember.  Oh god.  Angel.  I _want_ to remember that I love this baby.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
By the time he got her up the stairs and into the shower, Buffy had run the gamut of emotions, one second weepy, the next complaining, and then finally back to weepy again, as she whispered against his skin, “Sorry I’m psycho-Buffy.”  
  
He grinned, wondering what her reaction would be if he described some of Drusilla’s frequent less-than-lucid moments.  She’d never apologize again for being psycho _anything_.  “‘S all right love.  No worries.”  
  
Shouldering his way into the bathroom, Spike dropped her onto the vanity.  “Gonna get you set up and you should be fine, okay?”    
  
Turning woeful eyes up at him, she nodded yes, but he knew it wasn’t all right.  “What’s wrong?”    
“Nothing.  Everything.  I dunno.”  She sniffled into his shirt, her hands fisted in the soft cotton material.  “Not sure.  Just . . . sad.”  
  
“Anythin’ in p’ticular?”  He kissed the top of her head and turned away to see to the taps and get the water hot enough to make a difference for her.  She was silent, content for a little bit to just watch him.  He was so . . . he enjoyed this, Buffy realized.  He liked being needed and taking care of someone.    
  
“No.”  She huffed, realizing she sounded like a little girl.  “Just not feeling so hot.”  
  
Spike looked at her for a long minute, not saying anything.  The shower sounded like comfortable rain in the background, the warm air curling around the two of them, reeling them in, increasing the intimacy between them.  
  
“Want me to wash your back?”  He wasn’t leering at her, though it was a near thing, she could tell by the tone of his voice.    
  
Wrinkling her nose, Buffy said “Eew, Spike, I’m all – it’ll be messy and bloody and . . .”  
  
“Buffy, vampire here.  Bloody and messy is fine, more than fine.”    
  
She looked down at her feet, trying to hide the blush that was staining her cheeks, but he could smell her, every last little thing about her, smell the shampoo she used this morning, the makeup and scents she’d used with Dawn, and under it all, the scent of her growing arousal mixed with the heady fragrance of her blood.  Moving closer, his voice just a gravely murmur, Spike stood between her legs, his hands reaching out to caress her skin.  His hands tugged on the loose ponytail, releasing her hair to float all around her, fingers massaging the back of her neck.  All thoughts of tears were gone, dried up in the heat surrounding them, his touch driving away the momentary sadness.  He engulfed her, sent her outside of herself, away from all fear and pain, no sadness, no regrets, the sorrow at being back here long gone in the face of his devotion and care and his touch.  He grounded her, brought her back from the brink time and again, giving and giving, never once worrying about how much she had to give in return.  He asked only for her nearness, her acceptance.    
  
Buffy looked down at herself, seeing her bared breasts in his strong hands, calloused and scarred, watching as he molded them, almost feather light touches raising gooseflesh everywhere.  His mouth captured hers and she forgot to think, nearly forgot to breathe.  Spike’s hands were still molding her breasts, his thumbs flicking across her nipples.  Arching her back she broke the kiss to watch his hands on her.  Wet kisses trailed from her lips down her neck, nipping gently on her skin.  Her eyes never left his face, gazing at him as he wrapped his tongue around a hardened nipple.  Blunt teeth bit down, tugging at her gently.  
  
Leaning further away, one hand gripping the edge of the vanity, Buffy was almost offering herself up for his mouth to taste.  More kisses trailed downwards.  At her waistband he moved sideways, nipping at her exposed flesh.  Glancing up at her, Spike was surprised to see her eyes opened and watching him.  Mischief flickered in his and before Buffy could prevent him from going any further, Spike began nuzzling his way further down her body.  His bites, even with her clothes between them, were electric.    
  
Big hands pulled her forward so his face could nudge closer into her.  “No . . . Spike. . .”  
  
Sliding his fingers down the back of her waistband, Spike bit hard at the apex of her thighs, sending a jolt of desire straight through her.  Whining his name softly, Buffy bucked her hips closer to him, wrapping her legs around his chest.  Dropping to his knees, he pulled her to the edge of the vanity, his opened mouth bites trailing over her still clad mound.    
  
“Spike . . . no . . . god. . . Spike.”    
  
Her free hand fisted in his hair, holding him close and trying to push him away.  _This was so . . ._ “Spike.”    
  
He was drunk, wanting nothing more than to drink her in, reeling from the scents surrounding them, the heat, her little gasps and whimpers of protestation and need, lost in the moment.  “God, kitten. . . please. . . let me. . .”  
  
“Want you . . . all of you. . . _please_ , love. . .”    
  
Whispered deep pleadings rang in the air between them, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her butt.  Her heels pressed into his back, belying her words of protest, urging him closer.  
  
Small fingers pulled at his hair, holding him against her, her whimpers of pleasure overtaking her deeper protests.  Pulling away from her, Spike nipped her knee, then moved her off the vanity.  His head slumped against her belly, swimming in the scents covering her.  His hands pushed down her loose pants, exposing her, giving him more skin to nuzzle.  
  
She kicked off her sneakers, her hands reaching for his shirt.  Leaning into him, Buffy let her arms wrap around his now bare shoulders.  Spike rocked back, lifting her clear of the pants pooled at her feet.  His mouth captured hers and he let go of her when his back hit the floor, letting her hold herself up away from him.  
  
Their hands tangled together as they both reached for his boots and jeans, desperate now to be skin to skin.  A deep chuckle sounded in the air as they managed to get him half naked, with one boot stuck as the jeans slid down his hips.  
  
Rolling Buffy off his chest, Spike sat up, practically ripping the laces open and violently kicking off his boot, sliding off the jeans in one swift movement.  Leaning over her, Spike’s mouth  captured a nipple, sliding his free hand down her torso.  Wasting no time, his mouth followed its earlier path downward.  
  
“Spike,” but before he allowed her to stop him, he sucked her clit into his mouth, grinning as his name ended in a little shriek.  
  
Buffy’s hips lifted, arching into his mouth, her hands fisting in his hair.   “Oh, god. . . Spike . . . don’t stop . . . _oh_. . .”  
  
She tasted like nothing he’d ever had before.  Rich wine, smooth whiskey, virgin’s blood; nothing compared to the taste of her.  His hands gripped her thighs, fingers digging in, holding her open for his mouth.  Tongue circling her clit, Spike groaned into her, feeling her muscles begin the dance signaling her climax.  
  
Buffy was beyond speech, beyond thought, beyond anything save the feeling of his mouth, his tongue, his teeth on her.  His tongue was circling around her core, lapping at her like cat, gathering all the moisture.  Her shrieks nearly pierced his ears when his tongue finally penetrated her, the bathroom echoing with the sound of her voice, the mewling cries of release.  She was shaking, writhing under his touch, her body his to play.  
  
“Oh, _oh . . . gaaaah_. . . Spiiiiike . . .”  
  
Seeking something to hold onto, her hands scrabbled over the floor, over her own hips, squeezing his fingers, pulling on his hair.  Nothing worked, she couldn’t gain purchase, couldn’t find anything solid to hold onto.  His nose butted against her clit and she softly screamed his name.  Using blunt teeth, Spike nibbled at her clit, sending her over.  “Oh, god . . . Spike. . . Oh. . . oh god. . .”  
  
She was still convulsing when he slid his erection into her pulsing warmth, pumping into her hard.  “Love you,” wet kisses rained over her face, “So fucking much. . . always.”  
  
Her legs came up around his waist, her arms encircling his shoulders, holding him close.  “Spike, please. . . inside me . . . _please_.”  
  
Locking her ankles, Buffy held him in, allowing him only short shallow strokes that hit her clit every time.  Her mouth tugged on his earlobe, her voice scarcely more than a ragged whisper, “Please, Spike. . . cum inside me. . . now. . . please.”  
  
Pounding furiously now, Spike groaned, her pussy tightening around him, “Love. . . Buffy. . . now. . . kitten. . . with me. . . now.”  
  
Her third orgasm slammed into her, seizing every muscle in her body, her fingernails leaving bloody marks on his shoulders, sending him over the edge.  His balls tightened painfully and Spike exploded into her, his grunts filling her ears, her name on his lips like a prayer.   
  
Slumping together in an exhausted tangle of legs and arms, they were both undone.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Dawn was having the time of her life.  Everything was perfect.  The dance was okay, the music wasn’t too bad, Casey brought the right flowers, his parents didn’t stick around to watch them enter the gym.  And best of all, Spike hadn’t wigged completely when she came down the stairs.  
  
She had spent all the time while Buffy and Tara worked on her hair and makeup, silently pleading with the Gods of First Dates that Spike wouldn’t lose his mind and make her change her clothes when he got a look at her in the dress.  Not that it was all that revealing.  It had a low open back, the collar was high and the bottom long, the side-slits weren’t up to her thighs, only cut to just above the knees, and she wasn’t made up like a hooker.  Not that her sister and Tara would’ve done that to her anyway.  But she’d still breathed a huge sigh of relief when Spike had said she was beautiful.  And all grown up.  
  
The look in his eyes had been awed and amazed at the changes the other two had made to her everyday look.  She’d tried so hard to look sophisticated and not like a little girl, hoping that Spike would acknowledge it, at least a little bit.  _Thank you Gods, thank you. .. . thank you.  Now let the rest of the night go just as well._  
  
Looking over at her date, Dawn figured she had one thing in her favor, coz he was just the cutest boy she’d ever seen.


	5. Last remaining light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue again take from Angel the Series, episode 53, written by Tim Minear (same as the last chapter). And the ritual described herein is not complete, do not attempt anything like this at home. Title is Audioslave.

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 5.  Last remaining light.  
  
  
He either fears his fate too much,  
or his deserts are small,  
that dares not put it to the touch  
to gain or lose it all  
    James Graham, Marquess of Montrose  
  
the moment of a miracle is unending lightning . . .   
                      Dylan Thomas, On the Marriage of a Virgin  
  
Curl like smoke and breath again  
down your throat inside your ribs  
through your spine in every nerve  
where I watch and wait and yield to the hurt   
      
And if you don’t believe  
the sun will rise   
stand alone and greet   
the coming night  
in the last remaining light.  
    Chris Cornell, Audioslave,   
    The Last Remaining Light, eponymous album  
_**  
  
  
They ran out of hot water half way through the shower.  It hardly mattered to him, because the slight changes indicating they were running low on it didn’t register with him, and Buffy was shielded under his shoulders, so she didn’t notice them until it was too late.  They’d wasted enough of it before they even stepped _into_ the shower.  He didn’t much care, however Buffy was complaining half-heartedly because her hair was still full of conditioner, so he pulled her into his arms and let the water rinse off her head.    
  
Her teeth were chattering by the time they emerged from the cold water, her fingers and toes blue at the tips.  Spike toweled her off, ignoring his own discomfort, anxious to get her comfortable.    
  
Giving in to his curiosity, Spike asked while she was towel drying her hair, “‘S it always like this?”  
  
“What?”  Her hair covered her face, making her look like a bedraggled waif, causing a smile to grace his features.    
  
“The bleedin’, pet, ‘s it always this way?”  
  
She sighed, “Yeah.  Lasts for about forty-eight miserable hours, all crampy and bleah and I can’t go out because, hello, vampire magnet . . and it’s just – so yeah.”  
  
Tilting his head, Spike watched her run a comb through her hair, struggling with some of the tangles.  Taking the comb away from her, he worked it through her hair, as she wrapped a large towel around her torso.  “Had a problem with vamps before?”  
  
“Couple of times.  Enough to make me rethink patrolling.”    
  
Dropping the comb onto the vanity, Spike turned to watch her face, “And the other?”  
  
“Huh?”    
  
“The pain, love.  Cramps and,” he wasn’t sure how to phrase this part of the question, because he’d never had to encounter this before.  When he was human, suffering under the heavy morals of Victorian England, body parts were never mentioned, much less bodily functions.  After turning, he’d never spent much time with humans except to drink, so this was new information.  He was struggling with how to ask the question, Buffy watching him closely, finally just blurting it out, “The amount, I guess.”  
  
Bright pink blush bloomed on her cheeks, traveling across her shoulders and upper breasts.  Not looking into his eyes, she just nodded in response.  
  
“Hey?  ‘S me, vampire, no need to go all missish on me now love.”  His finger reached out to lift her chin, forcing her eyes upwards.  “Tell me.”  
  
“Just a benefit of being the Slayer.”    She shrugged, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the conversation.  Riley never wanted to talk about this, staying away from her when the mood swings got too rough, or worse, just pretend it was all in her head and that she should ‘buck up and take it like a man’.    
  
Spike wasn’t stupid.  Accurately guessing what path her train of thoughts followed, he pulled her into his arms, resting her head against his bare chest.  “‘S all new to me, kitten.  Wasn’t exactly talked about in my day, yeah?”  Brushing a kiss against her temple, he murmured, “Jus’ wanna make it better, don’t like seein’ you this way.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
For the first time in a couple of weeks, easily since before Buffy came back, Tara was having a good time.  As in a really good time.  She hadn’t told anyone else where she was going, almost afraid to tell any of her house-mates where she was going and more importantly who she was going out to meet.   It was weird enough in her mind, no doubt it would be impossible to explain to anyone else.  
  
Glancing over at her companion, Tara stifled a giggle.  He wasn’t at all like what she’d thought on their first meeting.  There had been so much going on that time, she was afraid she was going to lose Willow and worried about being outed so violently to all Willow’s friends.  It didn’t matter so much to her, since she’d always been quietly open about her preferences.  Wasn’t like she was flamboyant, not at all, it was more like she didn’t hide those preferences from people observant enough to notice.  
  
So all things considered, it was kind of hard to imagine getting along with and even liking her current companion.  Yet Oz was a likable guy, if a bit laconic and taciturn to a fault.  He did have a wickedly dry sense of humor, which she appreciated, and he wasn’t hard to be around, not like some other guys.  It was amazing the number of guys who would try to pick her up, despite knowing she was gay.  What wasn’t surprising was the number of guys who wanted a threesome, but Tara wasn’t going there.  
  
Thankfully, Oz was different.  There was zero pressure, just . . . a weird bond they shared because of Willow.  Through Oz, Tara got a glimpse into what kind of made Willow tick.  
  
They were sitting in the Bronze, waiting for a band that Oz wanted to hear start their first set.  The noise was escalating, the music pounding out a very dance-able beat and Tara couldn’t stop her feet from responding.  Catching her restlessness from the corner of his eye, Oz took pity on her, asking, “Wanna get out there and cut a rug?”  
  
She was up off the chair before he’d finished talking, “Let’s go” wafting over her shoulder as she walked toward the dance floor.  
  
“After you,” he said to her back, a very slight smile on his face.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Willow had laid out everything she would need for the summoning.  All the herbs, all the right candles, her small cauldron, even an offering for the gods.  It was all ready, waiting for her to cast the circle and start the ritual.  
  
It was a sending and a summoning at once.  She was going to prove to everyone Spike was a liability, that it was dangerous for him to close to everyone, most especially to prove it to Buffy and Dawn.  
  
Deciding which gods to invoke had taken more time than she’d thought.  There weren’t many directly associated with vampires, a few Egyptians and Celts aside, so she’d settled instead on invoking task-specific – Mercury for the messenger, Gwyn ap Nudd for the Wild Hunt _(because Spike was, after all hell bound)_ ; Isis and Osiris because he ruled the underworld and Isis had raised Osiris from the dead with help from Anubis, among a few others.  
  
She wanted to send a message, specifically to Buffy, but to the universe in general that Spike was dangerous – and she was summoning warriors to prove that to Buffy.  
  
Concentrating hard, Willow closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath and began invoking the gods and goddesses she sought help from.  
     
Standing in the middle of four candles, each at one of the corners, a fifth candle at her feet, Willow opened her eyes and called them forth.    
  
“Deities of the north,” and the flame sprung to life in a bright spark of light.  
  
“Deities of the east,”  The north candle flared, arcing over to light the eastward candle, then receded.  
  
“Deities of the south,” This time both lit candles flared, met in the air above her, then sparked the third candle to life.   
  
Without turning around, Willow chanted again.  “Deities of the west,” Three candles sparked, triangulating, joining together and igniting the last directional candle.  
  
“Deities all,” The four lights flared high, arcing over her head, arrowing down to ignite the candle at her feet.  
  
“Hear my plea, heed my cry.  Give flight to my message, let the arrows fly.  True nature be revealed, let scales fall from every blind eye.”  
  
Taking a deep breath, her voice faltered but didn’t break, “Bring forth those enemies that can defeat him.  Let Buffy see Spike for what he truly is – let them all see his true nature.”  
  
Drawing her athame across her palm, Willow let three drops of her blood fall over the candle, landing directly in the flame.  She bent down, grabbing the candle with her still bleeding hand, then set flame to the contents of her cauldron.  
  
“So mote it be.”  
  
The candles flared, flames touched the ceiling then extinguished.  Willow slumped to her knees, repeating, “So mote it be.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Dark, fathomless, ancient eyes focused their gaze upon the gaping mouth of hell.  Amusement played about within the eternal, elemental consciousness and a rather ironic thought wafted back once the request was received.   
  
_Have a care what you wish for.  
  
Prayer granted.  
_  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Somewhere on the desolate high desert plains above what used to be part of Iran, a black robed cleric turned pleased eyes upon a warrior with a blue runic tattoo upon his brow.  “We have located her.  Your men are ready?”  
  
“They are,” was the terse reply.  
  
“It is time.  Activate them.”  
  
Turning away from the elderly cleric, the warrior gave the command.  
  
And over four thousand miles away, several teams of similarly tattooed men got into position.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy was on the couch, feet propped up on the table, heating pad at her lower back, drinks, popcorn, and chocolate all within easy reach.  Spike was standing there at the kitchen doorway watching her.  
  
She couldn’t remember if she’d ever been indulged like this.  Looking down at herself, she thought _hard to be all grumpy girl when I’m being pampered Buffy_.  Catching sight of him standing there leaning against the door jamb, she smiled.  W _ho’d’ve thunk William the Bloody would be all caring guy.  I really am kind of lucky._  
  
He was trying not to laugh at her.  She looked like a little kid, sitting in a too big chair surrounded by goodies.  Pigtails, popcorn, big eyes, she was utterly adorable at the moment.  What made it even cuter were her expressions.  He could always tell when she was talking to herself, she’d be a terrible bluffer, if she ever learned poker.  
  
He could almost see the mental conversation just by her expressions alone.  Suddenly a dreamy expression crossed her features and a Mona Lisa smile graced her features, her face aimed in his direction.  Before he could ask, Buffy called him.  
  
“Spike?”  
  
“Yeah?”  He stayed where he was, leaning against the doorway, ankles crossed, hands in pockets, one shoulder against the wood frame.  
  
“Spike?”  Her voice had a bit of a whine to it now, yet she was still too cute for words.  
  
“Yeah?”  He crossed his arms over his chest, a smile on his face.  
  
“Spike.” She was really whining now, though her eyes were smiling.  
  
“Yes, dear?”  His smirk crossed over into genuine smile and his eyes were crinkling at the corners.  
  
Her lower lip came out and he lost it.  Deep chuckles sounded over the low hum of the television and he tried not to laugh as he asked, “Somethin’ you wanted pet?”  
  
“Ahuh.” Fiddling with the throw blanket over her, Buffy lowered her eyes teasingly, deliberately keeping the pout in place.  
      
“Gonna tell me what?”  _Oh gods, the little girl routine is gonna kill me._  
  
Twirling one of her pigtails, Buffy whispered, “Ahuh,” then, “Wanna kiss.  Can I have a kiss?”  
  
All playfulness was gone now, replaced with instant hot pulsing need.  His nostrils flared and he moved away from the door, flowing toward her like a panther on the prowl.  “Always.  Any time.”  A heartbeat pause.  “Anywhere.”  
  
His body was humming, every nerve ending fired with need for her.  This was a first, Buffy making the first move, initiating this . . . between them.  His brain was reeling, she wanted him, thoughts scattered.  She wanted him almost as much as he wanted her.  
  
Standing over her, Spike looked down, really looking at the woman-child before him.  Sometimes she was so . . . childlike, so innocent, uncertain, unsure . . . then there were moments when she was pure wanton, world-weary hardened and cynical.  He loved each one of those moments, all of them.  
  
Buffy looked up at him, watching while he struggled to keep his desire to pick her up under control.  She realized, as he struggled for breath, that he was probably the most controlled person she knew, despite his inability to stick to a long-term plan, but that wasn’t what she . . . loved about him.  What she did love was his loss of control around her.  
  
Her hand came up, running up his thigh, tugging on his tee shirt, pulling him down toward her.   “Are ya gonna kiss me?”  
  
She was up in his arms, his hands cupping her ass, her legs wrapped around his waist before she finished speaking, her ‘ _kiss me_ ’ whispered directly into his mouth.  
  
Nose to nose, Spike stared into her eyes and finding his answers in the deep emerald-gold depths, slowly captured her mouth with his.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Her feet hurt and the beautiful curls were drooping, she was all sweaty and tired, but none of that mattered, because she was having the best night of her short life.  
  
Casey was everything she’d thought he would be – _funny, cute, considerate, cute, did I mention cute?  Okay so he wasn’t Spike or Brad Pitt or Jude Law or Paul Walker or  . . .  Wesley,_ but he was her own age and knew she was _alive_.  Coz, while two of those guys knew _that_ about her, one was her biological father and the other was just . . . way above her and also, way, way too old.  
  
Dawn stopped those thoughts.  Wesley thoughts were not of the good, especially not while she was standing here supposedly listening to Casey.  _Go away Wesley thoughts._ Focusing on what Casey was saying, Dawn never noticed the exits being blocked, nor the men poised at the windows about to enter.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Breaking away from Buffy, Spike gently dropped her onto the couch.  “Time for me to go, princess.  Gotta get Niblet and the Sprout.”  
  
This time the pout wasn’t a tease.  She didn’t want him to go, but he’d insisted on getting the two teens when the dance was over, and since it was now almost midnight, it was time.  
  
Wasn’t hard to miss her disappointment. “Princess?”  He was torn, she shouldn’t come with him, she wasn’t kidding earlier about the bleeding, although he wasn’t comfortable leaving her alone.  “Wanna come with me?”  
  
Shaking her head no, Buffy said, “It’s okay.  You won’t be gone long, I’ll be fine for a few.”  
  
“Buffy?  You sure?”  He could feel the combination of emotions rolling off her.  
  
“Seriously.  Go.”  Waving him away, Buffy said, “Leave now, back quick.”  
  
“All right, love, back in fifteen.”  
  
Stealing another quick kiss, Spike was gone in a flash.  
  
Buffy threw a pillow across the room, hitting the television.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Willow came to, slumped on the floor, surrounded by puddles of hardening wax and a sickening stench in the air.  
  
Her muscles were strained, feeling like they’d been over-stretched and then folded up, not allowed to pull back to their natural state.  There was a constant in-between-radio-station hum in her ears.  
  
Pushing up off the floor, Willow realized her legs wouldn’t support her slight weight.  Giving into the weakness, she crawled her way over to her bed, slumping against the side.  She barely made it on top when she collapsed onto her pillow.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
There were people running away from the school when Spike pulled up in the DeSoto.  
 _  
Not good_ was his first grim thought, followed quickly _by where the hell is she?_ Leaving the keys in the ignition, Spike pushed his way into the fleeing teenagers, minor shocks from the chip going off when he bumped into people.  Didn’t stop him, his only thought was to find Dawn and get her out of here.  
  
Making his way toward the gym, Spike’s battle sense went into overdrive.  
  
Something was very wrong.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Darla was panting for breath, trying to escape the pain wracking through her body.  Her belly was heaving and every muscle in her belly area was constricting.  “Angel, our baby is gonna die right here in this ally.  You died in an alley. . . do you remember?”  
  
“I remember.”  His face was grim, averted from Fred’s eyes and staring down at Darla.  
  
“I wanna say I’m sorry.  But I can’t.”  Tears were sliding down her face, and he fought the urge to cry right along with her.  “Aren’t you gonna tell me everything’s gonna be okay?  That it’s okay?”  
  
“No, Darla, I can’t.  No.”  He shook his head, unwilling to look at her, unable to not look at her.  
  
She sighed, facing some things about her long unlife that she’d never wanted to face, never had to; however the soul within her, burning her from within, was forcing her to take stock.  “We did so many terrible things together.  So much destruction, so much . . . pain.  We can’t make up for any of it.  You know that, don’t you?”  
  
He couldn’t answer her, couldn’t lie to make it better.  “Yeah.  I know that.”  
  
Her hand caressed her belly.  “This child, Angel, it’s the one good thing we ever did together.”  His hand reached out to hold hers, lifting it to his lips and placed a tender kiss on it.  “The only good thing we ever did.”  
  
With her hand still in his, Angel’s unneeded breath broke on a sob.  
  
“Make sure to tell him that.”  Before he could react, Darla had grabbed a stray piece of wood from the destroyed door and buried it in her chest.  Angel gasped, staring as she turned to dust before his eyes.  
  
Her dust mixed with the rain, falling lightly back down to earth, covering the crying infant laying exposed on the cobbled street.  
  
Ignoring everything and everyone around him, including the vampire hunter with the crossbow aimed at his back, Angel gathered up his crying son, getting slowly to his feet.   Purposely turning his back further to Holtz, Angel took the jacket Fred was holding out to him and wrapped it loosely around the baby, then walked toward where Wesley and the others were waiting next to his car.  
  
The baby in his arms whimpered a little, cold, wet, needing warmth and something to suckle.  Angel could only provide him with shelter from the rain.  He stopped for a moment, adjusting his jacket around the baby and then stopped all movement.  
  
This wasn’t just any baby.    
  
 _It’s a miracle._    
  
 _His_ miracle.    
 _  
His son._    
  
Darla’s son.    
  
A gift from the gods, the universe.  He’d never done anything to truly deserve such a gift.  Angel stared down at the innocent shining countenance of his barely-minutes old son and every emotion he’d ever felt roiled up within him.  Bubbling, churning, conflicting and dizzying in their intensity.  
  
He had a son.  
  
So many emotions were swirling about, he’d never thought he could have children, never wanted them when he was human, not thought about the prospect in hundreds of years of existence.  This was a part of him, part of Darla . . . A magical, mystical part of them both.  
  
Pride, fear, the weight of responsibility, disbelief, confusion, helplessness, yet above all, through it all, with each conflicting and accompanying emotion there was overwhelming love.  And the love over-rode and consumed every other emotion – subsuming them all within the unconditional, deep love. . . and a wellspring of such joy and happiness that . . .  Angel faltered . . . felt something rip from his chest – and in a vain attempt to reel it back, he clutched the infant close – then stepped forward to Wesley.  
  
Thrusting the infant at him, Angel stumbled, caught himself, stumbled again – looking at Wesley with agonized eyes, saying, “Call him Connor,” then gasping, sucking in unneeded air, growled out, “Keep him safe.”  
  
Uncertain what was happening, Wesley nearly dropped the baby . . . but when Angel’s words finally registered with him, Wesley’s eyes widened in horror.  
  
Backing away from the prone and writhing vampire, Wesley calmly, cooly caught everyone’s attention.  “Run.   Hide.  Split up . . . now.”  
  
No one understood until the vampire laughed.  
  
“I’ll find you.”  
  
Cordelia’s voice was as calm as Wesley’s had been, as she cocked the crossbow at the vampire.   “Not if one of us gets to you first, Angelus.”  
  
Gunn slammed his boot down on Angelus’ ankle, breaking at least one bone.  
  
The AI team, using the advantage Gunn had given them, scattered.  
             



	6. A charm of powerful trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from the Scottish Play, act iv, scene i.

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter 6.  A charm of powerful trouble  
  
All things truly wicked start from an innocence.  
    Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast, ch. 17  
  
Dire combustion and confused events  
new hatch’d to the woful time  
    Macbeth, act ii, scene iii**_  
  
  
  
  
Wesley hadn’t waited for anything.  The minute Angel’s – Angelus’ attention had shifted to Cordelia, he backed into the car, placed the baby on the floor of the front seat and drove off.  
  
He had to put as much distance between father and son as humanly possible, as quickly as possible before Angelus had time to start tracking.  
 _  
Buggering hell.  
  
 **Bloody buggering fucking hell.**_  
  
Wesley had no idea where to go.  It was after midnight and while he was sure he could at least get diapers, he couldn’t risk it while still in LA.  Had to get out – find a safe place to . . .  _Sunnydale._  
  
Cutting across four lanes of traffic, Wesley turned the car south, toward Sunnydale.    
  
Toward the only two people who could possibly protect this baby from his father.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The gym was barricaded from the inside.  He couldn’t get in by conventional methods, not even through a window. . . _unless_. . . circling around toward the athletic field, Spike slipped into game face, sniffing out the hostage takers.  
  
 _Fuck.  
  
Humans.  Every last fucking one._  
  
No matter.  He could probably still get in, get Dawn and the Sprout to safety and let the authorities clean up this one.  Opening an unguarded locker room window, Spike let himself in.  On silent feet he prowled through the smelly locker room, freezing when one of the hostage-takers came closer.  Bloke was doing his own searching, trying to be all stealthy, but Spike could hear his elevated heartbeat and echoing footfalls.  Turning a corner, Spike got a look at him, swearing in his head upon his glance.  
 _  
Buggering hell.  
 **  
Bloody fucking buggering hell.**  
  
Thought we beat the knights who say key.  What the fuck are they back here . . ._ Dawn.  _No fucking way in hell.  
_  
Without thought of the chip, hoping if he picked them off one by one it would lessen the effects, Spike reached out and snapped the sentinel’s neck.  The pain blinded him momentarily and he tried willing it away by breathing deeply.  
  
It took him longer than he was willing to wait for the pain to subside.  _Fuck it.  Not gonna wait._  
  
Pushing away from the lockers, Spike made his way steadily toward the gym, fully prepared now to do whatever necessary to get Dawn out of there and home.  
  
Laid out flat on the floor, Spike pushed open the door, thankful that the woeful knights had kept the dim lighting scheme.  _Idiot wankers pro’ly can’t find the bloody switches._  
  
Sliding along the floor, Spike got to his feet behind one of the tall speakers, inhaling deeply, he tried to pinpoint how many people were currently in the room.  _Ten. . . fifteen . . . twenty-two, yeah, twenty-two people. . ._ He had no way of knowing how many were the bloody knights.    
  
Dawn was here.  
  
Not more than a dozen steps away.  
  
Surrounded by other heartbeats.  
  
Risking a look, Spike leaned around the amp.  The boy, to his credit, had Dawn firmly by the waist, not letting go.  Dawn was hanging onto him also, another good sign.  Not so good was the group trying to separate the two.  There were four of them.  
  
He had one chance.  
  
No more than that.  One opportunity to get them out of here.  
  
Thinking quickly, Spike ripped apart the thin fabric covering the amplifier.   Disconnecting wires and quickly threading them together, Spike soon had two garrottes ready for use.  Two down. . . he’d leave it to Dawn to take care of one. . . three down.  Figuring he could get one good solid kick in while he was choking the other two, Spike had no choice but to go with the makeshift plan.  He waited. . . then, when Dawn’s date elbowed one of their attackers, Spike struck.  
  
“Nice work, Sprout.  Up for more?”  
  
Slipping one noose over the elbowed knight, Spike yanked, turned, flinched visibly, then slipped the second noose down around a short knight’s neck, he yanked again.  Pain blossomed in his head, worsened at Dawn’s ear and glass shattering shriek of his name, which thankfully enabled him to garrotte the second victim, but unfortunately alerted everyone to his presence.  
  
Grunting through the pain, unable to see, Spike ground out, “Quiet, sweets, gotta get us outta here.”  
  
Dawn kneed her current attacker in the groin while Casey, quickly catching on, sucker punched the fourth knight in the kidney, then when he arched back in pain, slammed his knee up into the man’s balls.  
  
Holding his head and hunched over from his own pain, Spike pushed them toward the locker room, hobbling behind them.  His mouth was running, trying to break through to Dawn, who was babbling and crying.  “Niblet . . . Dawn.  Shut up, listen.  Keys in car.  Get home. . . Get Buffy.”  
  
Two knights grabbed him from behind and ignoring the pain, Spike threw a left at one, striking out with a kick to the other in a follow up motion.  Instead of yelling in pain, Spike howled with fury, diving into the fight.  
  
Casey was pulling her toward the door, while Dawn screamed out Spike’s name.  
  
Grabbing a folding chair, Spike slung it at another knight, yelling at Dawn, “Get out!  Now!”  
  
Somehow Casey understood this was about keeping Dawn safe and he bodily picked her  up and ran for the doors.  
  
“No . . .  No!  They’ll kill him!!”   Dawn’s voice was panicked, real fear lacing her tones.  “Spike!  SPIKE!!”  
  
He was braced at the doorway, doors to the locker room at his back, four knights ranged in front of him.  Pain was cresting in waves through his head and Spike knew he had only a few precious seconds of consciousness left, however every second counted, gave the two time to get away, to get home, so that Buffy could at least avenge his dusting.  He knew this was it.  
  
The knights knew what he was.  Each one of them holding a makeshift stake in hand, but Spike was doing his best to avoid that final plunge, holding them off with a folding chair.    
  
 _Fucking hell.  
  
Do not wanna die at the hands of Society for Creative Anachronism rejects.  
  
 **Fuck**._  
  
The door swung open behind him, and Spike turned to face this threat when they closed in on all sides.  Something hard and metallic slammed into his head, then he took another hard blow to his right and he tried fighting back, praying to a god – any god that he could hold out longer, when a tiny blond blur streaked in under an upraised arm.  His blurred vision thought it was Buffy except the stance was different, the figure smaller.  
  
Lifting the chair, Spike mentally shrugged, no time to worry about who or what she was, then slammed it into one of the knights.  Together he and his unexpected ally fought, yet with each blow Spike struck and landed, he weakened.  He was faltering and he knew it.  
  
There was another hard blow to his right from a sword, raking down his entire torso, and he felt and heard bones snap and as he was trying to recover, a whoosh sounded past his ear and everything went black.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Dawn was screaming his name, fighting against Casey’s hold, trying to get back to Spike  somehow.  “Dawn. . . Dawn. . . _stop_!  He said get your sister.  We have to _go_.”  
  
Casey just kept repeating the words until finally Dawn understood what he was saying.  Gulping in a deep breath she said, “I’m okay. . . I’m okay. . . yeah.  We gotta go _now_.”  
  
Taking off her shoes, Dawn grabbed Casey’s hand, heading for the back of the locker room.  Spying an open window, Dawn scrambled up and out, spying the DeSoto while Casey escaped from the school behind her.  
  
“Can you drive?”  At his answering nod of yes, Dawn said, “Good.  Let’s go.”  
  
      
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
He should have been back already.  Buffy looked at the clock on the wall, then down at her hands. C _ould just be Dawnie didn’t want to leave the dance or her date.  Could be . . ._ so then how come she was having these little niggling thoughts about something going wrong?  
  
She threw aside the blanket, searching around for her sneakers.  Upstairs.  The sense of urgency grew, intensifying the longer it took to find her sneakers and get some weapons.  
  
Buffy stood still, her weapons bag at her feet, staring off into nothing.  Was she over-reacting?  Was this just her over-active imagination?  
 _  
Was it?_  
  
Her slayer sense was telling her something was wrong about tonight.  Something gone wrong.  Shaking off the inertia, Buffy slipped a stake into the back of her pants, then grabbed a short sword.  
  
She was running down the steps when an upset and crying Dawn burst through the front door, calling her name.  
  
“Buffy!  Spike . . . school . . . go!!”  Doubling over, trying to catch her breath, she blurted out, “Knights came. . . Casey drive. . . go!  _GO! **GO**!_ ”  
  
“Stay inside, Dawnie.  Lock the doors.  Call Tara.  Don’t let anyone in but us.”  Buffy was out the door and staring at Casey who was standing at the door of the DeSoto.  “Drive now.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Wesley checked the speedometer, then flicked a glance at the gas gauge.  His eyes drifted toward the sleeping infant on the floor.  He needed to get gas, but couldn’t risk leaving the baby in the car all alone.  
  
His mind was completely blank.  Having no idea how the others had gotten away, Wesley only hoped everyone survived, at least through the night.  He was staggered from the events of the last couple of hours.  
  
Darla had staked herself so the child could live.  
  
Angelus was returned.  
  
 _Angelus is back._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _Be alive.  Not dust.  Just be there.  Not dust.  Not dust.  NOT DUST.  
  
Not dust._  
  
The drive felt endless, Casey trying to stay within the speed limit yet drive fast.  Buffy was afraid to even open her mouth, for fear of nothing but screams emerging.  
  
Her hands were clenched in an iron grip, jaw tense and frozen.  The two thoughts kept repeating over and over, looping in her head.  _Be there.  Not dust._   _Not dust.  Be there._  
  
She was out the door before they hit the parking lot behind the locker rooms, her only words to Casey, “Don’t leave,” flung over her shoulder as she ran toward the building.  
  
Unknowingly following Spike’s earlier path, Buffy went in, practically diving through the window.  The locker room was eerily quiet, not even her footfalls made a sound.  Stepping over a corpse, Buffy wasn’t surprised when she saw the tattoo – and grimly thought, _good.  He got one._  
  
She ran quickly to the gym doors, not caring about stealth anymore.  
  
Swinging open the door, Buffy quickly surveyed the scene before her.  A little blond girl was standing over a huddled bloody mass of black . . . _oh god. . .  
  
Spike._  
  
That bloodied mass of black was Spike.  
  
 _Oh god._  
  
Without another thought, Buffy ploughed into the fight raging around the little girl, knocking out one of the knights and hacking at another’s arm.  Grim faced, scared, and highly pissed, Buffy set about to free Spike from the warriors.  
  
                                      
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The band was almost done with the first set when her phone went off.  Glancing down at it, Tara thought about ignoring the call, although when the main house number flashed, followed by the number one, Tara quickly changed her mind.  Motioning to Oz, she walked toward the bathrooms and flipped open the phone.  
  
Dawn was crying, that much was clear, but nothing else made sense, until Tara filtered away the tears.  
  
“Dawnie.  We’ll be right there.  Stay put.”  
  
Turning back toward her companion, Tara sent up a quick plea to the heavens to keep everyone safe.  Oz raised his eyebrow at her gentle yet urgent touch.  “I have to go.  Spike’s been hurt and Buffy’s had to go rescue him.  Dawn’s alone. . . the knights are back.”  
  
He didn’t say anything, just left his beer on the table and followed her out the door.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _Three more._   Only six now surrounding the three of them.  Buffy was afraid to look down, afraid to break her concentration.  Afraid – because if she looked, she’d break.    
  
 _Still here.  Not dust.  
  
Not dust._  
  
Unaware she was muttering those words out loud, Buffy was surprised when Spike’s rescuer joined in.  Flashing the blond girl a look, Buffy was taken aback when teary blue eyes gazed back at her.  
  
Those eyes were kind of familiar, but Buffy had to fend off a blow aimed at the other girl’s head, nearly decapitating the knight.  Jumping over Spike’s inert body, Buffy switched off with the girl, idly noting she fought left-handed, something she was used too.  
  
Her world narrowed, all time for thought gone.  
  
Hack.  Lunge.  Punch.  Kick. _Not dust_.  Punch.  Slash.  _Not dust._   Punch.  Kick.  _Not_. Slash. _Dust_.  Hack. _Not_. Stab. _Dust_.  
  
It was done.    
  
The last knight was bleeding out on the floor.  Buffy dropped the sword, crumpling to her knees, facing away from where his battered body lay inert.  Blood was pooled everywhere, soaking into the knees of her pants.  Stifling a sob, Buffy retched onto the floor, adding to the mess.  
  
A hesitant call of her name brought her attention back to the forms behind her.  “Buffy?”  
  
She spun around, responding to her name from the unknown girl.  “How do you know me?”  
  
“I know lots of things.  I’m Kirsten.”  
  
Somehow that wasn’t a surprise.  
  
There was a groan from the bundle of dark clothes, drawing Buffy’s attention away from the girl, kneeling at her side.  “Spike . . .”  
  
Scooting over to him, Buffy searched for an unbloody part of him to touch.   “Spike . . . Spike can you hear me?”  
  
His hair was red, there was so much blood on him.  His face was barely recognizable, swollen, battered, bruises all ready forming.  
  
“Oh, god.  Spike.”  Her hand covered her mouth, afraid to again to move.  His legs were at odd angles, his lower right arm broken through the skin, the bone bare and exposed. This was as bad as Glory’s beating.  
  
“Buffy.  We need to get him out of here.”  From her position on his other side, Kirsten wiped away her own tears.  
  
“Blanket – we need something to lift him.”  looking around Buffy spied a small gymnastics mat and was up dragging it over before Kirsten could move.  “Help me get him up.”  
  
Together they moved him without jolting him too much.  Working remarkably well and in relative silence, the two moved toward the door, Spike’s prone body on the mat between them.  
  
Emerging from the gym doors, Buffy was surprised to find Oz waiting for her instead of Casey.  At her questioning look, he said, “Sent him to your house.  Dawn called Tara.”  
  
 _As if that made sense._   Buffy just shrugged.  Oz hopped up into the back of the van, grabbing one end of the mat, sliding it in.  Buffy hopped up beside Spike, while Kirsten closed the doors.  
  
Climbing in beside Oz, Kirsten said, “We should be safe at Buffy’s.  Tara’s probably got stronger wards up now.”  
  
Neither one of the adults thought her comment was strange.


	7. Fear itself

**_Book Two  
Chapter 7 Fear itself  
  
Fear makes us feel our humanity  
    Benjamin Disreali  
  
A tragedy need not have blood and death: it’s enough . . .   
that it all be filled with that majestic sadness that is the   
pleasure of tragedy.  
    Jean Racine, Berenice, preface  
  
I will not fear.  Fear is the mind killer.  
I will face my fear and I will let it pass through me  
    Frank Herbert, Dune_**  
  
  
  
There was no sound in the van, except for the sounds of three people breathing.  Buffy sat in the back, huddled next to Spike’s still form, trying to stop the bleeding.  Tears were sliding down her cheeks, dropping onto his bruised face.  He hadn’t made a sound since that groan in the gym, and his chest was still.  She knew he wasn’t in danger of dying, yet knowing didn’t help the fear gripping her insides, nor the hammering of her heart.  Two different Buffy voices in her head were alternately screaming and chanting.  Screaming in fear and grief and chanting in prayer and thanks.  _He’s not gone, still here, not dust_ and the other just a primal howl of grief echoing in her head, drowning out the soft chant of saner Buffy.  Her tears were washing away the blood from his bruised features and she gingerly touched his battered cheek.    
  
One eye flickered open, searching around for her.  Settling his gaze on her, his eye closed again, and a soft growl sounding in the air between them.  It wasn’t his usual strong, forceful growl, more the whimper of a lion in mortal pain.  Closing her own eyes, Buffy reached a decision.  
  
“Oz.  Stop by the hospital.”    
  
Without a glance back or any other acknowledgment that he’d heard her demand, Oz changed direction and headed for Sunnydale Memorial.  He had a feeling he knew what she was going to the hospital for and he had thought of it himself, but hadn’t wanted to make the suggestion.  The little girl sitting next to him jerked to attention, turning around to look at the older girl.  “We need to get to safety.”  
  
“He needs blood more. . .  And I can’t set his legs or his arm.  Someone has to do it.”  Buffy wasn’t going to argue with her, not for any reason.    
  
“They’re gonna tell you he’s dead.”    Kirsten wouldn’t look away from Buffy.  
  
“I know that.  I can’t . . .”   Buffy wiped away some of the tears, smearing Spike’s blood across her cheek.  “He needs someone to set his legs.  And his arm . . .”  
  
Oz spoke for the first time since getting in the van.  “Want me to get one of the docs I know?”    
  
“Yeah.  That would be – one that knows you’re a werewolf?”   Buffy shouldn’t have been surprised by this, yet somehow it had never occurred to her that some of the people in Sunnydale had to be aware of what was going on in this town.  
  
“Yup.”  Pulling into a deserted part of the hospital, near the morgue entrance, Oz jumped down from his seat.  “Be right back.”  
  
It wasn’t a long wait, not nearly what she’d expected, it was still longer than enough.  Spike was groaning softly, his left hand clenching and unclenching.  Buffy ran her hand over his face, wiping more of the blood away, soft little whimpers of sympathy filling her throat.  She was rocking back and forth on her knees, her other fist against her mouth.  Buffy was watching his face so closely and so intently that she was unaware of almost anything else.  Their faces were inches apart, her breath rushing over his still features, her hand cupping his face.  She didn’t feel it at first, the slight tug on her hair, until it became insistent.  Spike’s fingers were entangled in the ends of her hair, holding on tightly.    
  
“Spike” she whispered to his face.  “Spike, I need you to be okay.  Please be okay.”  
  
The van doors opened revealing Oz, some other guy, and a woman.  Turning her blood and tear streaked face toward them, Buffy just looked closely, trying to decide if this was a good idea.  The woman was all business, holding out a hand to Buffy, “Let’s get him out of there and inside.”  
  
It took her a long moment to make a decision.  She knew he needed more assistance than she could give him, but she wasn’t sure she trusted this woman.  Looking at Oz once, Buffy raised an eyebrow.    
Pretty sure he knew what was going on in her head, Oz stepped up into the van beside her.  “It’s cool.  She knows all about this stuff.”  When Buffy didn’t move, Oz gestured at her, “She’s my aunt Maureen.”  
  
“It’s okay, her son’s the one that bit me.”  Buffy focused her attention on the woman, taking in her appearance, really looking at her.    
  
“Must you, Daniel?”  His aunt made a face, clearly indicating she wasn’t happy with his blunt admission.  “Let’s get him inside.”  
  
Buffy held out a hand to stop Oz, then pointed at the other man.  “Who’s that?”  
  
Maureen answered, “That’s Dr. Thomas.  Ray Thomas.  He’s going to work on your friend.”  The doctor smiled, nodding at Buffy.    
  
“He knows?”  Buffy looked him up and down, taking his measure.  Ray Thomas was fairly tall, with sandy blond hair and nondescript features, although he had a kind face with nice blue eyes that were currently looking at her over wire-thin framed glasses.    
  
“Sure do.  Let’s get him inside so I can work on him.”   
  
“What about taking him home?”  Buffy wasn’t willing to let him work just yet, still unsure of the strangers.  Spike’s fingers tightened on her hair, a sure sign he was listening, or at least she hoped it was.  
  
Doctor Thomas and Oz’ aunt exchanged glances.  “He can’t stay here.  He’s going to have to go with you when we’re done.”  
  
Giving in, Buffy nodded her head, then moved to help Oz lift the end of the gym mat, while his aunt and the doctor held up their end.  Kirsten got out of the front, coming round to help the two normal humans and between them, they got Spike inside the morgue entrance without any mishaps.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Sometime after one in the morning, and roughly forty-five minutes outside of Los Angeles County, Wesley couldn’t go any further without pulling over.  The gas gauge was on empty, had been for close to five minutes, and the baby definitely needed something warmer than Angel’s jacket covering it.  The infant was still sleeping, otherwise his already sharp nerves would be cut to the quick.  There was a mini-mart gas station within sight, thankfully one that was open 24-hours and Wesley had to take a chance.  
  
It had to be far enough away from Angelus, though he was sure one of the first places the vampire would look would be in Sunnydale, at least for the time being.  Coasting into the gas station on fumes alone, the car finally came to a stop precisely where he’d aimed it, next to the petrol pumps.  Breathing a sigh of relief at one thing going correctly, Wesley contemplated how to get himself and the baby inside without anyone being the wiser –  and avoiding the surveillance cameras – which were no doubt somehow monitored by Wolfram & Hart employees.  
  
He believed it would be impossible to disguise his appearance right now, but he had to hide the baby at all costs.  Switching off the engine, Wesley leaned over to lift the baby up in his arms.  _Poor little one_ , he thought, _no parents, no one to love him._  
  
Grabbing the jacket, Wesley discarded his first idea.  The baby was small.  Small enough to –  Thinking quickly, Wesley unbuttoned his shirt partially, tucking the boy inside, the tiny  head resting against his belly.  _What had Angel said to call him?  
  
Connor._  
  
The baby’s name was Connor.  Cradling him close, with his arm along the baby’s body, his hand cupping and supporting the wobbly head, Wesley figured this was the best he could do.  Making quick work of re-buttoning his shirt, Wesley half zipped up his jacket.  Connor settled in, reacting to the warmth of the body next to him.  Gingerly getting out of the car, he made his way toward the mini-mart.  
  
The kid at the counter ignored him as he entered, not even looking up.  Walking down the aisles quickly, Wesley spied some necessary supplies.  Diapers, formula, a small bottle and nipples, and in a burst of creative thinking, sanitary napkins, tee shirts and a few other things.  Laying his purchases on the counter, Wesley said, “And a full tank.”  
  
Just grunting his acknowledgment, the kid rang up the items and held out his hand for the payment.  Without exchanging another word, Wesley left the mini-mart.  
  
He filled the tank, his eyes constantly flicking around, watching the dark night for signs of pursuit.  The stop hadn’t been more than twenty minutes, although the longer he stayed in one spot the more dangerous it was, at least until he got to Sunnydale.  It was imperative he get there before sunrise, without having to stop again, and that was provided the baby cooperated.  Wesley figured he’d get to Buffy’s in just over an hour.  
  
More than enough time to ask for sanctuary.  
  
Long enough to batten down the hatches and prepare for Angelus.  
  
Lifting the nozzle back into the holder Wesley secured the gas tank and got into the car.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Cordelia had run away from Angelus, muttering under her breath the whole time about stupid vampires and shaky souls.  
  
She’d deliberately lagged behind, giving Wesley as much of a chance to escape as she dared.  Gunn had grabbed Fred and headed in the opposite direction from her.  At one point Lorne had kept up, though when they’d thought Angelus was behind them, they’d split up.  
  
Cordelia had no illusions that she wasn’t on Angelus’ list of people to torment.  She knew she was.  And she knew why.  Angel might not be willing to admit to his growing feelings; however, Cordelia knew when a man was interested in her.  In light of Darla’s sacrifice leaving Angelus no one else to torture, she was it.  He’d come for her first, then go after Buffy.  
  
Creeping her way toward her own car, Cordelia thought about heading back to Sunnydale once she had transportation – figuring Wesley might head there.  Cordelia decided it wasn’t a bad plan.  Double checking that no one was around, Cordy ran to her car and screamed when big hands closed around her shoulders.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
His clothes had been cut from his body and in deference to Kirsten’s presence and at Buffy’s insistence they’d covered him with a sheet.  Oz’ aunt had washed the blood away from his wounds and set up an IV drip of human blood into his left arm.  
  
It was the only part of him that wasn’t in some way injured.  The list was frightening in its length; fractured skull, broken jaw, compound fracture of his right arm, one broken femur and two broken shins, in addition to the long slice running the length of his torso from right nipple to left hip, and various broken ribs, Spike was lucky he was already dead.  As it was his injuries could still take weeks to heal.  
  
The IV drip was helping, because the smaller wounds were already closing, lighter bruises fading.  Buffy stood by the Gurney, her hand clutching his good one, squeezing rhythmically.  
  
There was nothing they could do for the fractured skull, however Dr. Thomas had re-aligned his jaw and then set his broken legs.  “No point in proper casts, a couple of splints should keep him contained for the next forty-eight hours.”  
  
Dr. Thomas had taken one look at his legs, giving Buffy an explanation of sorts. “Once he has enough blood, he’ll start healing.  He’ll still be healing faster than a normal human being, which means no casts because the legs aren’t so bad.”  
  
All the while Dr. Thomas was speaking, Buffy stroked his hand, re-assuring herself that he was there, solid beneath her touch.  His fingers tangled with hers weakly, tugging her closer.  Spike inhaled deeply then, letting her scent wash over him.  He couldn’t talk and his eyes were just slits due to all the swelling, but Buffy knew he was in there, knew he could hear her voice.  “Spike, I’m here.  Not leaving.  Please, be okay, _please_.”  
  
She leaned down to say the words in his ear, her hand still holding onto his and when he turned toward her, new tears flooded her eyes.  “Spike, I’m here.”  
  
His eyes closed again, pain tightening his features as the doctor pulled the skin around his right arm together.  Using staples instead of stitches, the doctor made quick work of putting him back together.    
A thump sounded by her feet, and Buffy turned to look at what caused the noise.  Oz’ aunt had dropped a styrofoam cooler at her feet, filled with blood packages and a bag of bandages and other supplies was in her outstretched hand.  “You’re going to need all this.”  
  
Straightening up, Buffy smiled tearily at the older woman, whispering, “Thanks.”  
  
Transferring Spike back onto the gym mat, they headed out to the van, carrying him gingerly.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Despite the lateness of the hour, every light was on at Revello Drive when Wesley pulled up at the curb.  The baby had slept the entire trip, and was only stirring now, soft cries sounding in the car.  Lifting Connor up to his shoulder, Wesley headed for the door and was surprised into dropping the bag when the door swung open before he got to the steps.  
  
Tara and Dawn were standing at the door, watching him closely, staring intently at the bundle in his arms.    
  
“Wesley?”  Tara’s voice was quiet, though he heard her clearly.  
  
“Yes, it’s me.  I need some help.”  _That is an understatement._ He wasn’t quite sure what to do now.  He’d gotten a diaper on the baby, and managed to wrap him in a tee shirt, keeping him warm.    
  
“Is that a baby?”  Dawn was staring at him, not taking her eyes off the approaching male and his burden.  
  
“Yeah.  It’s Angel’s son.”  Looking down at the baby in his arms, Wesley missed the startled looks the two girls shared.  
  
“What?”    
  
“That’s not possible!”  
  
“Actually it is.  Can I bring him in?  I need to get him safe and,” sniffing the air about the baby, “he needs a change and a bottle and to get warmer.”  
  
Tara looked at him, accurately gauging his awkwardness and taking pity on the helpless Englishman, said, “C’mon in Wes, we’ll get him settled.”  Stopping him at the doorway, Tara took the baby from his arms, motioning toward the car. “You might want to hide that in the garage and get his things.”   
  
Dawn was peeking in at the tee shirt that was wrapped around the baby, cooing at him.  “Oh, he’s gorgeous.  Look at him.”  
  
With Dawn trailing behind her, Tara made her way into the kitchen, issuing instructions on the way.  “Dawn, run upstairs and get some bath gel and some towels and . . . oh, start a pot of water boiling first.”  
  
“Ahuh.  Sure.”  Dawn stayed put while Tara slid the baby out of the tee shirt, watching as he reacted to being cold again.    
  
“Dawnie, I need you to do this.”  
  
“Do what?”  Wesley’s voice sounded from the hallway, his footsteps sounding loud in the quiet house.    
  
Her gaze still on the wriggling infant in her arms, Tara listed once again the things she needed done before they could settle into explanations.  “He’s cold and needs to be washed and fed and I need Dawnie to get me some things.”  
  
“Right, then.  Do we need . . . what?”  He placed the bag of supplies on the counter, a bemused smile settling on his features as he watched the two girls with the baby.  
  
“Boiling water.  Towels, some bath wash, and dry diapers.”    
  
“I can get the water going but not sure where to – towels upstairs?”  Moving about the kitchen, Wesley got the water going then looked toward Tara to see what else she needed, when it struck him what time it was.  He blinked twice at the time on the clock, wondering why they were all up and awake.  “Tara?  What’s going on?  Where are Buffy and Spike?”  
  
He was taken aback when Dawn looked up with tears in her eyes, and her face crumpled, as she tried to answer him.    
  
“Spike got badly hurt when the knights tried to attack Dawnie.  We don’t know . . . when she left him, to come get Buffy, he was still on his feet, but,” Tara stole a glance at the teenager at her side, “She’s been gone over two hours and there’s been no word.”  
  
“Oh, dear gods.”  He slumped against the refrigerator, his posture defeated.  “Oh, dear god.  Angelus is back.”  
  
“What?”   Both girls stared at him, the baby almost forgotten.  
  
“Darla . . . staked herself, so that the baby could be born and Angel – I’m not entirely certain what happened, but Angel was holding the baby and suddenly he wasn’t Angel anymore.”  Wesley didn’t know what to do.  He’d thought by bringing the baby here that there would be some sort of assistance from Buffy and Spike, though now, with their status unknown he might need to rethink his strategy, “Perhaps I should just get him fed and cleaned up and then head someplace safer.”  
  
“Oh, no, you don’t.”  Dawn looked over at him, Summers’ determined look on her suddenly very old features.  “Nope.  You and he are staying put.  We don’t know anything.  And Spike,” she fought a tear or two, “he’s tough, he’ll make it.”  
  
Neither one of the adults wanted to contradict her.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Loading Spike back into the van hadn’t taken long, and just like before their detour, the trip was conducted in silence.  Dr. Thomas had given them the strongest drugs he could find, so that Spike wouldn’t move around while his bones were knitting.  Buffy was most concerned about his jaw, because he couldn’t bite until it healed and she wasn’t going to wait around for it to heal before letting him drink from her.  She’d not said it to anyone else, wouldn’t dream of sharing something like that with virtual strangers, though it was sitting there in her mind.  
  
Oz murmured something that Buffy didn’t hear, wasn’t even paying attention too, but she heard Kirsten’s quiet response.  “Your parents know where you are?”  
  
“Um.   Yeah.  They know.”  
  
In her tired and other-focused mind, Buffy didn’t think anything of Kirsten’s answer, turning back to Spike when a groan emerged from him.  
  
“Right here, Spike, I’m right here.”  
  
The van lurched, then swung around, slowing to a stop.  Oz jumped out, his unnecessary announcement of, “We’re here,” sounding over his shoulder.  
  
Buffy emerged from the van to find Wesley and Oz waiting to help her, with Kirsten and the other two girls hovering in the back behind the men.  Tara had an armful of sleeping baby  and Dawn was crying again.  None of it made any sense to her, and she wobbled a bit once she got her feet underneath her.  Oz and Kirsten hopped up into the van, lifting one end of the mat while Wesley and Buffy handled the other.  
  
She almost dropped her end of the mat, the emotional upheaval finally reaching her, and Buffy burst into fresh tears when Spike groaned at the disturbance.  Handing the baby to Dawn, Tara grabbed the mat next to Buffy’s hands and motioned everyone toward the house.    
  
“Let’s get inside.  Everything can wait until we’ve all slept.”  
                                        


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Franklin Delano Roosevelt – in a speech he gave July 2, 1932 (“the only thing we have to fear is fear itself”).


	8. Tomorrow’s questions

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter 8.  Tomorrow’s questions  
  
Dreams are toys.  
Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously,  
I will be squared by this.  
     A Winter’s Tale, act iii, scene iii  
  
roving dreams –  
over charred fields,  
the wind’s sound  
    Onitsura, untitled haiku**_  
  
  
  
  
Wesley and Oz had carried Spike upstairs to their bedroom while Buffy followed behind.  Everyone was reeling, stunned from both events of the night, not a single one of them had gone unscathed, not even the newest one.  
  
Putting Spike on the bed had taken a bit of skill, yet the two men managed without her assistance.  Buffy stood at the end of the bed watching him.  Maureen Osborne had added morphine to Spike’s IV blood drip and right now he was blissfully numb.  There was no guarantee how long that would last.  They had no way of knowing how Spike’s body would absorb the painkillers.  
  
In addition to the blood, there were three more IV bags of morphine, plus some painkillers Spike could take orally once he was a bit better.  All of it was now in the refrigerator, courtesy of Tara.  
  
Buffy almost didn’t care about that.  
  
Buffy didn’t care why Wesley was here or why he’d brought a baby.  She didn’t care how Kirsten had managed to hold off six knights alone, saving Spike or why she wasn’t worried about getting home.   
  
She wasn’t concerned about any of it.  
  
Her world had just narrowed.  Had just collapsed on itself.  Her rock, her strength, her unwavering support was on precarious legs.  On broken legs.  Her best friend and worst nightmare, her world since coming back was lying on her bed, broken, battered, and more than dead.  
  
Buffy didn’t move when Oz and Wesley walked past her, didn’t acknowledge either of them in anyway.  Her eyes were fixed on Spike’s still form.  
  
It took her long minutes to realize they were alone.  Even longer for her to gather her courage, her wits and approach the bed.  On soft feet she moved, slowly going forward.  His head rested on his favorite pillow, the hospital sheet wound around him.  Both legs were splinted and his right arm was loosely bandaged with a soft cast on it.  Kneeling down on her side of the bed, almost bent double, her head resting close to his left shoulder, Buffy let the tears fall freely, her words washing over him.  
  
“Need you so much.  Was so scared when Dawnie came home. . .” Her hand brushed over his torso, resting lightly on his belly.  “Can’t die on me, Spike.  I need you.”  
  
Soft sobs whistled through her lips, “Can’t do this alone. . . god, Spike, I need you so much.”  Laying her head partially on his shoulder, Buffy whispered, “I want you to . . . need you to know.  I can’t do this without you. . .  My heart would break . . . be not fixable . . . don’t break me again.”  
  
His left hand moved, inching toward the arm covering him.  Holding on, Spike squeezed her wrist, his fingers digging into her skin.  She leaned closer, brushing her lips against his shoulder.  He swallowed noisily, kind of clearing his throat, then ground out in a bare whisper from behind clenched teeth, “Love you. . . not going.”  
  
Smiling through her tears, Buffy half heartedly hushed him.  Resting her head against him, she kissed his shoulder again, then stretched out beside him, cuddling close.  
  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  
Tara sent the two teenagers to bed after Oz and Wesley came back downstairs, despite their protests otherwise.  
  
The baby was sleeping again, his small body resting peacefully in the middle of her bed, surrounded by pillows.  The doors between him and the first floor were all open, although Tara had set a simple ward around him to sound his cry louder throughout the house.  
  
Oz was staying the night again, on the couch, while she and Wesley were going to share her bedroom with the baby.  They just weren’t going to bed just yet.  
  
Not that Tara didn’t need to sleep.  It was closer to four than three and babies were notoriously light sleepers, needing to be fed at short intervals.  
  
That wasn’t why they weren’t going to bed right away.  No, not at all.  She had to do a disinvite spell just in case – and – she also had to strengthen the wards around the house.  And since Wesley was here, he could add his voice and talents to hers.  _Hell_ , she was prepared to use Oz – and she still might.  
  
These wards she was about to set had to be the strongest she’d ever done – shields, wards, cloaking, no matter – anything she could think of to keep them all safe, until everyone was healed.  
  
Grabbing her sage and athame, Tara went to get Wesley.  
  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  
Spinning around, Cordelia smashed her assailant in the face, realizing too late that it wasn’t Angel.  
  
“Damn it!  Look what you made me do.”  Shaking her sore hand a few times, Cordelia resorted to kicking Gunn’s shins.  “Why’d you do that?”  
  
“I think he was tryin’ to keep a low profile.”  Fred spoke up softly from the front of her car.  
  
“Well it was stupid.  Should’ve just called my name.”  
  
Gunn had his hand to his nose, trying to stop the bleeding.  “ Helluva a punch you’re packing, there.  Don’t think I have to worry about you.”  
  
“Why are you guys back here?”    
  
“Charles thought we should get some supplies before we hide from Angelus.  Is it really that bad?”  
  
Huffing a bit, Cordelia fished around her pockets for the keys, “Yeah.  It’s that bad.”  
  
Holding up a hand, she stopped either of them from talking.  “If I don’t know, he can’t make me tell him.  Just go.  Keep your cell phones charged.  We’ll keep in touch that way.”  
  
Cordelia slid into her car, not watching to see their reactions.  “Stay together as long as you can.”  Nodding at Gunn, she waved a hand in Fred’s direction, “Watch out for her.”  
  
Motioning to the hotel, Cordelia said, “If you go in now, he’s probably not back yet, but be careful in any case.”  
  
“Broke his leg, he ain’t moving anywhere fast.  But I hear ya.”   Gunn lowered his hand, wiping away the blood.  
  
Exchanging a look with Fred, Cordelia repeated her earlier statement.  “Be careful.”  
  
Starting the ignition, Cordelia drove off, watching them in the rearview mirror.  
  
      


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  
She hadn’t meant to fall asleep without cleaning up first.  The blood on her clothes was mostly dried when she jerked awake, startled by an unfamiliar noise.  She didn’t think she’d been asleep all that long, because it was still mostly dark out, and the morning birds hadn’t started singing yet.    
  
Spike groaned, pulling her attention to him.  “Uughh.  Buffy. . .”  
  
“I’m right here.  Right here.” She brushed a hand over his face and he turned slightly toward her, a pained look on his features.  “What do you need?”  
  
A strangled sort of noise came from his throat and Buffy panicked until she realized his head needed elevating.  Lifting him up as gently as possible, she arranged the pillows under his head better, getting him more comfortable, all the while muttering under her breath.  “Gonna make sure you get better. . . get you back on your feet.  Deal with all the other stuff later, when you feel better.  Can’t . . . not doing this again.”  
  
Searching his face for signs of consciousness, Buffy stared down at his swollen face.  “Can you swallow?  Don’t have to bite me, but can you?  Do you wanna try?”  
  
His eyes opened up slightly, pain-filled and slightly unfocused, however the good sign was he was reacting to her voice and what she was saying.  “If you take a little bit whenever you can, it should help, right?”  
  
She wasn’t pretending he didn’t need her blood to heal.  He needed it desperately.  He needed it more than he needed painkillers or needed regular human blood.  She couldn’t have him . . . didn’t want him lying flat on his back taking forever to heal because she was too squeamish to bleed for him.  And maybe she was being selfish in wanting him back by her side, but she wasn’t ready to do this on her own.  Might not ever be again.    
  
Memories of heaven struck her at the oddest moments, no matter where she was or what she was doing, they just surfaced and she couldn’t stop them.  Didn’t want to fight the memories.  The closest she came to that feeling of safety, completeness, and unconditional love were those moments spent in his arms sheltered from the rest of the world.  Buffy didn’t want to lose that, didn’t want to trade that for anything.  And she wasn’t going to.  
  
Buffy got up from the bed, trying not to jostle him too much and reached down into her weapons bag, looking for one of her smaller knives.  Rummaging about, Buffy listened for signs of distress from him giving any indication that he was uncomfortable in any way, but he was silent.  His eyes were open though, mere slits in his swollen face, although Buffy could see that he was trying to follow her movements.  Keeping up a running monologue about what she was doing, Buffy saw his muscles relax as he heard her voice.  
  
Finding the knife she wanted, Buffy was back on the bed in mere moments, telling him, “Gonna do this on my wrist, is that best?”  Not waiting for a response that wasn’t going to come, Buffy kept talking, “Yeah, this is best, just gonna have to make sure I cut deep enough to do this.”  
  
Taking the knife in her hand, Buffy made a cut on the inside of her wrist, then waited.  And waited.  Sighing deeply and mentally berating herself, Buffy tried again.  This time, she actually put some force behind the cut and managed to really break the skin.  Laying her arm against his lips, Buffy snuggled next to Spike, her right arm around his head, her breasts against his ear.  “C’mon, Spike, swallow. . . c’mon, take this.”  
  
Weakly at first, he swallowed, letting too much of it trickle down his cheeks. Eventually, after just a few moments, Spike managed to open up his mouth wider and he latched onto her arm.  His left arm came up, his hand gripping her arm to hold her in place, his fingers curling around her wrist.  He didn’t drink long, didn’t take much, but it didn’t matter.  If he managed to take more every time, she would be able to gauge how well he was healing.  
  
His tongue licked her wound, closing it off as his eyes drifted close.  Those deep chest rumbles that she loved so much echoed through him, warming her up from the inside.  For long minutes they stayed like that, his hand holding her arm against his mouth and her body almost curled around his head.  Spike drifted back into sleep and she knew the moment he surrendered, because his fingers went lax and his head drifted to the side, facing her.  Slowly she moved back away from him, reluctant to move too quickly in case her movements caused him discomfort.  She needed to get clean.  Blood and vomit was all over her and she felt decidedly dirty.  
  
The water was blindingly hot, stinging needles against her battered muscles, soothing and numbing all at once.  Buffy rested her head against the cool tile, wishing that it was Spike’s chest.  The desperate fears she’d tried so hard to keep at bay were crowding her, swirling about in her head and heart.  He’d almost been gone.  He’d almost been dust.    
  
She wasn’t ready for him to not be here.  She didn’t know if she’d ever be ready for him not to be here.  Dropping down to her knees, Buffy rocked herself, the tears falling from her eyes, mixing easily with the shower.  Sobs broke through, wracking her, doubling her over in their intensity.  _God. . . oh god . . . I wish he was here. . . he’d know what to do. He’d hold me and I wouldn’t feel so . . . lost, so alone.  Spike . . . need you so much . . . don’t leave me.  
_  
She cried for so long that she had no more tears, no more fluid in her body to give toward the grief, and finally in a moment of pure surrender, raised her head to the water and let it wash over her.  His voice, that heady blend of aged whiskey, dark pleasure, and pure sex sounded in her head, his words soothing her, his presence in the next room calling to her.  _“C’mon, kitten, be right as rain soon enough, no worries, yeah?  Get to your feet and come back to bed, need you.”_  
  
It was so real in her head that she imagined he was standing behind her, urging her to get up, find her feet, and come lay beside him.  Obeying his voice in her head, Buffy took a deep breath and did just that.    
  
Buffy barely dried off, wrapped another towel around her head and without getting dressed again, she climbed back into bed beside him.  Laying her arm over him, Buffy kissed his shoulder once more then closed her eyes.  
  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  
Tara was curled up on one side of her bed, the tiny baby cuddled next to her, with Wesley on the other side of him.  She was sleeping lightly, more than aware of the unfamiliar bodies in the bed next to her, unable to get completely comfortable because of it.  The baby was on his belly, tucked into her side, her arm resting lightly over him, protecting him from the world.  Wesley stirred beside her, his body jerking from tense muscles and over-wrought senses.  
  
She shifted, trying to get more comfortable, the vague sense in the back of her mind that she was going to need this sleep, because come daylight, she was going to have to hold it together for everyone.  _Especially Buffy._  
  
The look in the Slayer’s eyes had been hard to miss, gauging how close she was to breaking down.  Wesley’s news wasn’t going to help.  Tara shifted once more, brushing a hand over the baby’s head when he also shifted.  “Shhhhhh, hush now” she murmured whisper soft.  “Sleep, little one.”  
  
Closing her eyes again, Tara followed her own advice.  
  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  
_It was raining, the soft sounds of pittering and pattering splatted and splooshed against the sides of the house; against the pavement.  She was tired of rain, tired of being cooped up because of . . . rain.  Looking out the window she peered down the long rainy street.  Strong hands reached out to close the curtains, a low voice sounding against her ear and there was a very solid presence behind her.  
  
“Not time yet, love.  Too soon for them.”  
  
“Don’t want to wait.  Want them now.”  
  
Those strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her close to the body behind her.  Linking fingers together their hands rested just beneath her heart.  “Be here soon enough, pet.  Then we won’t have time to think.”  
  
“Thinking’s not good.”  
  
He chuckled then, his voice low and seductive in her ear, as he nipped it between each of his words.  “Can’t exactly do anythin’ ‘bout that just now.  Couple o’ days love, I’ll see to you proper, yeah?”  
  
She smiled then, hugging him tightly to her.  
  
“Promise?”  
  
“Promise, kitten.”  
  
“Kay then.”  Settling against him, Buffy rested her head on his shoulder, content to stay put.  
  
His voice sounded again, this time clipped and controlled.  “Need you to listen now, pet.  Gotta trust us – what we feel.  Stronger together.”  
  
Turning around to face him finally, Buffy was surprised to find him in game face.    
  
“Mine you are as I am yours.”  His features faded back to human, his voice continuing, “He’ll come for us – for the sprog.  Oxford will help Dawnie, but we’ve gotta help him first.”  
  
A frown appeared on his features then cleared again.  “She’s ours too.”  
  
Thunder sounded, crashing loudly all around them.  “Shadows are fallin’ now, pet.  Can’t get free . . . we need to stay inside.”  
  
Her hand reached out to touch his face, his hand covering hers.  “Gotta watch them.  They’ll all be one of a kind.”  
  
Thunder crashed around them, lights went out, flickered on, his face bathed in shadow, here, gone, game faced then not.  
  
“Rest now, kitten . . . battles yet ahead . . .   Rest . . . rest.  First ones ‘ill be here soon.”  
  
He pulled her into his embrace, his arms linking around her, his kiss against her temple.  “Yours princess, always.”  
_  
Buffy came to slowly, trying to remember all the details of her dream.  Reaching for her dream journal, she flicked on the bedside lamp, then gasped when she saw Angel standing beside the bed in game face, his hands dripping blood.  
  
She lunged up, and realized when she woke to half light, that all of it had been a dream – even that last part.  Her heart was pounding, racing in her chest and she was gasping harshly for air.  Spike groaned beside her, reacting to both her jerked movements and her elevated heart rate.  
  
“Buffy – kitten?”  His voice was a bare whisper, though it was enough to shake her from the effecs of her dream.  His eyes were open, the swelling down visibly and though tired looking and pain-filled, his blue eyes were clear.  Reaching out with his left hand, Spike wiped away the tears she wasn’t even aware of shedding.  “Tell me.”  
  
“Was a dream.” Clearing her throat, she continued, “A Slayer dream.”  Reaching for his face, she ran a gentle finger across his lips.  “Give me a minute.  I’ll tell you.”  
  
Leaning over him, she kissed his face, saying nothing.  She had no words for what she was feeling.  Could only show him.  
  
Too soon for his emotional liking she pulled away, though only far enough to get out her journal and pen.  Sitting next to him, Buffy narrated the dream as best she could remember as she wrote it down.  
  
When she was finished, the sun was just coming up and he was back asleep.  Closing the journal, Buffy curled against him again, wondering if he’d heard the last bit, about Angel standing in their bedroom with blood on his hands.  
  
It was a long time before she fully went back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Edgar Cayce, who was a noted psychic and medium and the full quote is “dreams are today’s answers to tomorrow’s questions”


	9. Don’t cry little sister

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter 9.  Don’t cry little sister  
  
It is some relief to weep; grief is satisfied and carried off by tears.  
    Ovid  
  
Tears are the safety valve of the heart when too much pressure is laid on it.  
    Albert Smith  
  
Grief has limits, whereas apprehension has none.  
For we grieve only for what we know has happened,  
but we fear all that possibly may happen.  
    Pliny the Younger**_  
  
  
  
It was ridiculously early to be up when she’d only had a couple hours of sleep, but she couldn’t stay in bed.  Nightmares kept waking her.  Disturbing images of the aftermath of her first real date and Dawn couldn’t shake them.  Images of Spike as he’d been when Buffy brought him home, others of Buffy coming home alone – shattered, beyond reaching, grief-stricken and bereft.  Dawn remembered all too well what it was like in the days just after Buffy’s jump – could never forget them.  The burning, aching hole in her belly that got caught in her throat whenever she thought about it was back.  It was what wouldn’t let her sleep, wasn’t allowing any rest.  She wanted to vomit, she wanted to cry, to scream, to yell at someone.  She wanted to put her head against Spike’s chest and cry.  Let him hold her.  Tell her he was gonna be okay.  That he didn’t blame her.  
    
Not that it would help at all. This was all her fault.  If she wasn’t the key, none of this, _absofreakinglutely none_ of this would have happened.  Except for Joyce dying and Riley leaving, everything else bad that had happened in the last year had been her fault.  Because she was the Key.  Not anyone else’s fault.  Hers.  
  
It was all her fault.  Glory beating on Spike, Tara’s getting her brain sucked, Buffy . . . jumping.  And now this.  Dawn stared up at her ceiling, Kirsten sleeping quietly beside her and wondered what her purpose was.  _Am I just gonna destroy everything and everyone . . . piece by piece, one at a time?  Why am I here if that’s all I’m good for?_  
  
Tears welled up in her eyes.  The house was quiet, too quiet for a house with so many people here at once.    
  
Getting up, Dawn looked at her companion.  How she had gotten involved in this Dawn had no idea, but every time something weird or bad happened at school, Kirsten was around.  Which kind of set off slayer-type alarms.  
 _  
I’ll just be Scarlet and think about that tomorrow._   One last look at the other girl and then Dawn was out of her room and opening the door to Buffy and Spike’s room before she realized it.  
  
Opening the door to their room just wide enough to slip through, Dawn gently closed the door behind her.  Neither of the figures on the bed moved, then again, she hadn’t expected either of them to.  Spike was flat on his back, his right arm resting on a small pillow, his head leaning to his left, close to her sister.  Buffy was curled up next to him, wrapped up in a big bath towel and nothing else.  Her towel-wrapped head was nearly resting on Spike’s uninjured left shoulder.  Their left hands were clasped together, laying across his belly, Buffy’s smaller hand nearly swallowed up under Spike’s larger one.  
  
Just looking at their hands made the lump in her throat travel.  She wished she was a little kid, then it wouldn’t be freaky if she climbed into bed with them.  Part of her wished the monks had made her smaller – little enough to enjoy being theirs.  Climbing into bed with them would give her some reassurance, something she desperately needed, especially from Spike.  
  
Dawn stood at the foot of the bed, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, uncertain about what to do.  _Should I go?  Leave them alone?  Don’t want to do that.  Just want to stay._   It was only when she shifted that she realized she was crying, probably had been since she’d walked in and seen them both.  
  
Giving in to her sudden need to touch them both, Dawn crept closer to the bed.  They looked so . . . despite the bruises and bandages, they looked cute . . . _no.     Not cute.   Right._ They looked right together.  And cold.  
  
Taking the light comforter that was folded up at the foot of the bed, Dawn spread it over them.  Her hand covered their entwined fingers, nearly jerking away when Spike’s hand twitched.  He didn’t wake up, though, which almost disappointed her.  
  
She needed to see his eyes, needed to see that sparkle he had, just to reassure herself he was still with them.  Dawn’s hand hovered over theirs.  She was torn between touching and not touching.  Unable to stand it any longer, Dawn laid her hand gently over theirs.  Spike’s usual coolness was replaced with a slight warmth, definitely borrowed from Buffy though instead of bothering her, it gave her some small measure of comfort.  
  
Without much conscious thought, Dawn walked around to the opposite side of the bed, coming round to where Buffy was curled up against him.  Kneeling beside her, Dawn couldn’t resist any longer.  The tears were clogging her nose and streaming down her cheeks.  She slipped down behind her sister.  Silent sobs wracked her and she curled into Buffy’s smaller body.  
  
It was barely eight in the morning, the sun already begun its ascent into the sky when Dawn laid down beside them and barely a half hour passed before Spike stirred.  She wasn’t asleep, was in that sort of in-between state, just sort of numb.  His low groan caught her attention and she could feel him shifting and stretching from her position.  Buffy automatically adjusted, her answering murmur a soft exhalation of sound.  Spike inhaled loudly, Buffy’s name escaping from him.  Dawn smiled, listening to the two of them shift and stir, instinctively reaching out for the other.  Buffy’s arm moved and she shifted closer to Spike.  
  
Dawn felt like she was . . . not intruding, but getting a glimpse into how things really were between them.  Buffy stirred again and Dawn nearly jumped out of her skin when Spike ground out, “Mornin’ Niblet.  You okay?”  
  
A half sobbing laugh sounded from her throat.  “ _I’m_ fine. . . you . . . how’re you feeling?”  
  
“Truck run over me.”  
  
“Oh god, Spike, I was so scared.   I thought. . .”  
  
“Not going like that.  Not now.  Not ever.”  
  
“Dawnie, let him sleep.”  Buffy’s sleepy voice sounded between them.  Taking away the sting of her words, Buffy disengaged her hand from Spike’s and reached around to touch Dawn.  She grabbed her sister’s wrist and with an indrawn breath Buffy pulled away quickly.  Dawn grabbed her again, this time lifting her hand up to look at her wrist.  
  
“You should put a band-aid on these.”  Then after a second, she asked, “Would mine help?  Being the Key?  Would it be better than regular human?”  
  
Buffy sat up slowly, trying not to jostle Spike who was listening to their quiet conversation.  “I don’t know, Dawnie.  Not sure what your blood would do.  We know mine is best.”  Now a bit more awake, Buffy unwrapped the towel from her hair, facing her sister.  “You aren’t wigged . . . how come?”  
  
“It’s not that big a deal is it?  Spike needs it.  You’ve got it.”  Thinking about it Dawn continued, “Xander would wig big time.  Tara not so much and Giles?”  She shrugged.  “Do what you think is best, Buffy.  Not my decision.  But I wanna help.”  
  
It was on the tip of her tongue to just blurt it out and tell them both what she’d found out – except no one knew she even had the journals, much less read them.  She couldn’t tell them like this.  So she bit the inside of her cheek to remind herself of that.  
  
“Oh, Dawnie. . . maybe when he’s a bit. . .”  
  
“No.  Not biting you, Niblet.  Not now.  No.”  Spike wasn’t going to argue it not now, but he’d explain later. . . _maybe_.  
  
Dawn sat up, insulted and hurt.  “Gee, Spike, make me feel wanted.”  
  
Guessing what was in Spike’s head – about crossing a line with her sister and creating a need for a vampire’s touch within Dawn, Buffy had to agree with him.  “Dawnie, let’s talk about this later okay?”  
  
“Love you, Niblet, an’ I don’ wan’ t’ hurt you.”  He waited a bit, then repeated himself.  “Love you.”  
  
Dawn’s face crumpled, her sobs shaking her shoulders.  Buffy looked down at Spike, seeing his barely opened eyes looking back at her, a wealth of understanding in their unspoken communication.  Turning to her sister, Buffy pulled her into her arms and let her cry.  
  
  
                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
                  
Dawn was still the only one awake when Giles called to check in and report on his progress or, more accurately, lack thereof.  He knew immediately something was wrong just by the way she’d hesitated before telling him that Buffy was still asleep.  
  
“Tell me, Dawn.  Don’t leave anything out.”  
  
And she didn’t, spilling it out for him in horrifyingly minute detail without her usual girlish side commentary.  Which also told him how bad it truly was.  
  
There was absolute silence when she’d finished, then, “I have to stay at least a few more days, Dawn.  There are things I must see to.  But I won’t waste time.  When Buffy wakes tell her I’ll be back as soon as possible.  I’ll call back at,” and she could hear him fumbling for a watch, “Three your time.”  
  
‘Okay, Giles.  I’ll make sure she’s awake.”  
  
“Dawn?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Spike is tough.  He’ll pull through this.”  
  
Tears clogged her throat and all she could manage was an, “Ahuh.”  
  
“Dawn.  He’s a vampire.  Takes more than what happened to kill him.”  Didn’t stop her from feeling guilty about what happened.  
  
She whispered back, “I know.”  
  
“Take care, Dawn.  Speak with you in a few hours.”  
  
Giles disconnected the call and mentally re-arranged his itinerary and his priorities for the rest of this trip.  Changing his mind, Giles tapped on the driver’s shoulder, directing him to the Council’s headquarters instead of going back to his hotel.  No time to waste unwinding and spending a lazy Sunday afternoon doing nothing until the morning before resuming his research.  He was needed back home.  
  
      
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
After hanging up with Giles, Dawn grabbed some cereal and headed for the living room – stopping short when she spied Oz’ sleeping form.  _What, is everyone sleeping here now?  
_  
Wrinkling her nose, she turned around and walked right into Wesley.  His hands reached out to steady her and Dawn hid the squeal of-my-god-it’s-him that was threatening, instead she settled for the squeal-of-startled-surprise.  “Wes!”  
  
“Sorry, Dawn.  Phone woke me.”  He turned back toward the kitchen.  “Need some coffee.  Any here?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s all set up.  Tara usually does it before she goes to bed.”  Flipping the switch, Dawn smiled at him.  “How did you sleep?”  
  
Looking at his disheveled state and the two day stubble gracing his features, Dawn figured it was a stupid question, but she couldn’t think of anything smart and intelligent to say to him.  He usually did that to her, made her all tongue-tied and feeling very foolish and very, very young.  
  
“Actually, all things considered, I slept fairly well.  Just not long enough.”  He searched around for a coffee mug, his gaze averted, which gave Dawn ample time to just stare at him, and asked her, “And you?”  
  
“Huh?  Oh. Um. . . okay I guess.  Kinda worried about Spike.”  She hid her blush when he turned around to look at her by dipping her head down and focusing on her cereal.  Wesley caught her pink cheeks and ducked his own head.  He’d never been the focus of a teenaged crush and he had no idea how to react or even if he should.  He liked Dawn, she was a cute little . . . looking at her intently, Wesley realized she wasn’t a little girl anymore, wasn’t nearly the same little girl he falsely remembered from a few years back.  She was at _that_ age when men his _age_ got into serious difficulties by looking.  And it was worse because Dawn was growing into his type of woman . . . tall, smart, and beautiful.  Wesley realized he was going to have to be very careful around Dawn.  Very careful indeed.  Temptation was not something he wanted right now.  And god knows what Spike would do to him if he ever found out.  
  
“He’s going to be fine, Dawnie.”  Tara’s voice came from the basement doorway, a mewling baby held in her embrace.  “We’re going to make sure he’s fine.”  
  
Turning a grateful glance at the older girl, Dawn motioned for the baby and when she had him in her arms, began cooing at him.  “We need to get lots of supplies while the sun is up.”  
  
Wesley looked down at himself, noting his days old clothing and the need to be clean gripped him.  “Both the baby and I are going to need things.  I didn’t know where else to go with him.”  
  
Bottle and formula in hand, Tara stopped what she was doing to look at Wesley.  “You did the right thing by coming here.  If Angelus is back we have to stay together.  All of us.”    
  
Without looking up from the baby, Dawn said, “This time we need to just stake his sorry ass and not worry about re-souling him.”  
  
Neither one of the adults had an argument against that statement.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Every inch of him was in pain.  He ached all over, with parts that were throbbing in screaming counterpoint.  The morphine was wearing off and he was reluctantly waking up.  Sleep would be easier.  His head was a mass of pain, sharp, spine-bending, ice-hot shards of shrieking pain.  Groans of complaint fought for release in his throat and he tried vainly to suppress them.  Brief flashes of last night’s events circulated in his head, moments only, mere blurbs, a punch, a kick.  No more than that.  Later flashes, strange voices, different hands on him and much later, Buffy’s touch, her kisses and the sweet taste of her blood.  
  
A soft groan sounded and she was instantly awake.  “Spike?”  
  
Her head lifted away from his shoulder, a light touch against his skin.  “Kit – kitten.”  
  
“Shhhh.  I’m right here.  Gonna take care of you.  Want some pain killers?  Need blood?”  
  
He blinked, focusing on her, his eyes shifting to look at her, “Yeah.”  
  
“Okay.  I’ll be right back with the painkillers.”  She slipped on one of his tee shirts and a pair of shorts, nearly flying out the door.  
  
Spike closed his eyes, straining his ears to hear what was going on.  The girl’s voices were easy to pick out, and there was a deeper voice he didn’t recognize at first, though when he heard a phrase, he knew it was Oxford.  Not catching the implications of that, Spike was glad someone else was around to help the girls.  
  
He must have drifted, because Buffy was shaking him awake, a morphine bag and a straw in one hand.  “I’m not sure how much to give you.  I don’t know how much they gave you last night.  I – I’m not . . .” Her voice broke and she wiped away a tear.  
  
His left hand lifted to cup her cheek.  “Half,” he managed to croak out.  
  
She let her cheek rest there for a bit, just grateful he was awake and still with her.  Her eyes watched him, drinking in his presence.  Finally she lifted her eyes to meet his, a soft smile on her face.  “So glad you’re here.”  
  
His eyes sparked, glittering in their intensity.  “Love you.”  
  
As an answer she kissed his palm, then reluctantly broke away from his touch.  “So drugs or me first?”  
  
A chest deep growl sounded from him and Buffy suppressed her smile.  “Drugs.  Best last, pet.”  
  
“Thought you would say that.”  
  
Poking a hole in one end of the bag, Buffy stuck the straw into it, offering it to him.  Memories of him chained in the bathtub came back to them both, and Buffy giggled, saying, “No teasing this time.  I promise.”  Then growing serious, “I want you to be able to bite me.”  
  
The look in his eyes spoke volumes and Buffy’s heart beat picked up.  When he was better. . . _oh yeah_.  She thought about the two other times he’d bitten her, feeling her whole body flush.  
  
Lost in each other’s eyes, they didn’t realize he’d practically inhaled just under half the bag in record time.  “Okay, Spike, ready for some extra special Buffy goodness?”  
  
His smile was much more of a grimace, but his whispered “Please” sent shock waves through her whole body.  
  
Buffy froze for a moment, wishing he could act on the promise implicit in his husky whisper.  She needed to show him. . . to prove to him and herself that this wasn’t one sided. . . that she cared about him. . . that he was in her heart.  
  
Resting against him, Buffy kissed his shoulder, her right arm beneath her.  Raising her left wrist to his mouth, Buffy asked him, “Do you wanna try biting or should I do like earlier?”  
  
“I’ll try.”  Opening his mouth, Spike kissed her, at the spots marking where he’d drunk earlier.  His tongue came out, little licks running over her skin, just tasting her.  Spike closed his eyes, his tongue tip playing over the flesh of her wrist.  Buffy’s breath hitched and she fought a tiny gasp as he slowly, gently bit down, pulling at her skin.  
  
Her heartbeat double raced, pounding against her ribs.  He tugged on the skin just above her biggest vein as his tongue circled on that tiny bit of flesh.  Her blood pulsed beneath the healing cuts, leaping toward his mouth, aching to be part of him.  
  
Buffy’s eyes drifted closed her senses narrowed on that tiny strip of flesh inside his mouth.  His left hand dropped, no longer holding her arm against him.  He fisted his hand, his knuckle rubbing against her mound. In response she writhed, seeking any contact with his body.  His face shifted, his canines elongated once the overpowering scent of her arousal filled him and she lifted her hips, Spike gently, slowly sunk his teeth inside her flesh.  Her gasp of pleasure echoed loudly in his ears, “Spike. . . _oh_. . .”  Her breath was hitching, trying to get in enough air to whimper his name.  
  
He drank slowly, not wasting a drop, as she curled closer into his side.  The morphine kicked in and his muscles relaxed, his face shifting back to human.  Buffy rested her head against the side of his face, brushing small kisses on his skin.  Long before she thought he was finished, Spike licked the cuts, closing them off.   “Thank you, kitten.”  
  
Drawing in a deep breath, he rested his left hand down alongside hers, both of them across his belly.  Contented gurgles rumbled in his belly and Spike sighed.  Buffy stirred beside him, entwining their fingers together.  She whispered something against his bare shoulder, sounding suspiciously like ‘Sleep now’ and he drifted off in a jumble of thoughts filled with Buffy and home.    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The first thing they decided was, rather than scramble about for whatever they could remember they needed, that they needed to be working from a list.  Wesley was at a loss about what they needed for a newborn, however Tara proved to be a wealth of information, apparently from first hand expertise.  Wesley was acting as scribe, writing down everything Tara said to, while Dawn fed the baby.  
  
When Buffy had come down the stairs earlier to get supplies for Spike, she’d just stared at the baby, muttering, “Thought I imagined that last night.”  
  
A hasty explanation from Wesley had brought her somewhat up to speed, though  Buffy had only shaken her head, unable to focus on what might be coming until Spike was at least sitting up.  Instead she had gazed up at Wesley, noting his tired eyes and almost defeated stance, saying, “Not worried about him right now.  It’s daylight and he can’t travel between here and there.”  
  
Turning to Tara, Buffy asked, “Can you do a disinvite?”  Thinking again she continued, “We’re gonna need weapons from Giles’.  Can you guys pick those up also?  And anything else we might need from the Magic Box.”    
  
Exchanging looks, Tara and Wesley both answered at the same time, “We can do the disinvite,” then Tara continued, “We’re gong to have to split up.  This way we aren’t going to be caught out after dark.  It’s already after two.”  
  
Buffy looked up at the clock, disbelief on her face.  “Is it?”  
  
Dawn picked up her head, looking at her sister for the first time since she came downstairs.  It was clear Buffy had been crying and she looked like she hadn’t slept well at all.  “Buffy?  How is he?”  
  
A deep sigh sounded in the air, and Buffy tried to control the tears that were threatening, saying, “He’s awake and most of the cuts have healed.  I’m not sure about anything else.  He is talking, so I guess his jaw is healing too.  Hard to tell right now.”  
  
Her sister relaxed just a little.  Dawn’s body was still tense, and her worry was clearly evident.  “Can I see him again?”  
  
“Maybe later, Dawnie, okay?”  Buffy grabbed a straw, then headed back toward the stairs, her voice trailing behind her, “Let me know when you guys leave.”  
  
Once Buffy was back upstairs, the other three pointed shared looks.  Neither of the two adults had said anything about re-doing the disinvite, then again, Buffy hadn’t waited for a response. Tara was the first to recover, going over the list Wesley had been writing, asking him to add all the things Buffy had mentioned, plus whatever else she was going to need for healing and warding.  
  
Dawn was still cuddling the baby close and as he started falling asleep, she asked, “Who’s going to take the baby?”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She wasn’t asleep, not really, just in a sort of fugue state, where she wasn’t really awake either.  Spike was breathing beside her, his chest rising and falling in time with hers, although he was deeply asleep.  Right after he’d fallen asleep again, Buffy had checked his right leg, which hadn’t been broken badly, just a fracture.  The swelling was all gone, the bruising subsided from the livid dark purple, nearly black they had been to a less intense purple-bluish color.  It was a good sign.  
  
He’d been able to talk a bit also, another good sign.  She was mostly worried about his right arm, since that was the one that had broken through his skin.  Right now it was propped up on a pillow, however, she was afraid to unwrap the bandages to look at it.  It had stopped seeping blood earlier while they slept the first time, and she wasn’t looking forward to changing those bandages.  He was mostly clean, because though they hadn’t washed his hair, Oz’ aunt Maureen had made sure the blood was cleaned up from his body after the doctor had patched him up.  Getting his hair clean would have to wait until he could get into the shower, which wasn’t going to be at least until sometime tomorrow.    
Their hands were still entwined, resting across his belly, which was free of bruises now.  Buffy was watching the dust motes dance across the room, the late afternoon sunlight hitting her mirror, causing cross beams of indirect light, the only illumination in their room.  The idle thought crossed her mind that she was going to have to redecorate, adding dark drapes, so Spike wouldn’t get hit by stray beams of sunlight.  This was their bedroom now, it was only right he be able to enter it without worrying about bursting into flame issues.    
  
Buffy was mulling over ideas, not really thinking seriously about anything, in a half-drowsy state, when there was a soft knock on the door.  
  
“Buffy?”  Tara’s voice sounded from behind the closed wood and at her sleepy muffled answer, the older girl opened the door.  “How’s he doing?”  
  
“Sleeping now.”  Placing a kiss on his shoulder, Buffy loosened their hands and rolled over to face Tara.  “What’s up?”  
  
“Well. . .” Tara started fiddling with the sleeves of her blouse, a sure sign she was hesitant about what she was about to say.    
  
Taking pity on her, Buffy said, “Tell me.”  
  
“We can’t take the baby when we go out.  He’s got no clothes and we can’t spare the hands.”  She wouldn’t look at Buffy’s face, afraid the Slayer would be angry.    
  
Instead, Buffy just sighed, “Bring him in here.  He can stay with us.”  
  
“You sure?”    
  
“Tara, you guys need to do lots of stuff, having to carry him around is just gonna slow you down.  Bring him in here.”  Making a face, she continued, “Think I can take care of both of them?”  
  
That comment elicited a soft giggle from the taller girl.  “Shouldn’t be too hard.  He’s sleeping most of the time and we just fed him.  He’ll be good for a couple of hours.”  
  
“Okay.”   Then she laughed sadly.  “Sounds like both of them.”  
  
Spike stirred, a groan passing through his lips and Buffy focused her attention back to him.  He didn’t wake, though, and she motioned Tara to go get the baby and bring him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from the soundtrack for The Lost Boys, from the song of the same title.


	10. A light shines in you

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 10.  A light shines in you  
  
I will not ask from you  
anything that you were not capable of giving  
I would not ask from you  
anything but that which I truly need  
and I would not take from you  
without giving equal value in return  
        Javan, Footprints in the Mind  
  
And as the rain (begin again)  
falls heavy in my heart (as the storm breaks through)  
believe the light (so the light shines)  
in you (in you)  
(without color, faded and worn)  
torn asunder in the storm (torn asunder in the storm)  
(unless the sound)  
(save your body’s soul)  
(Unless it disappears)  
first the thunder (selfish storm)  
then the storm (cold on the inside)  
torn asunder (one life)  
in the storm (in the storm)  
in a lifetime  
        Clannad with Bono, In a Lifetime_**  
      
  
  
  
Oz woke up just after Buffy had gone back upstairs and he’d been enlisted to help them get all the necessary supplies.  His van was empty, except for the two seats in the front, and it would enable them to make one trip for everything, instead of having to use both the DeSoto and Angel’s convertible.  Having been brought up to speed about what was left of the day’s prospects, Oz characteristically remained mostly silent throughout Tara’s list of things to do, only speaking once to say, “How soon do we leave?”  
  
Which was answered by Dawn, “As soon as you’re ready.”  
  
“Then let’s go.”  Oz fished his keys from his pocket and dangled them in the air.  “Where to first?”  
  
“The mall, we need supplies for the baby and Wes.”  Tara answered.  
  
“So we go from there to get the stuff from the Magic Box and then we need to go to Giles’ to get more weapons.”  Dawn’s voice sounded from the hallway closet as she grabbed a light jacket.  
  
Tara headed up the stairs with the baby, calling down, “I’ll be right back.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike woke to the sound of Buffy’s voice singing lullabies softly in the very late afternoon light.  He had no idea how long he’d been asleep this time but he felt much better.  His headache was mostly gone, now just a fuzzy dull ache in the back of his head.  One leg was relatively pain free and his ribs felt like they were all healed.  A smile graced his features, listening to Buffy’s singing, and he stretched gingerly, taking care not to disrupt his healing bones.  
  
Buffy looked up from the chair and he realized why she was singing.  “Somethin’ you wanna tell me, kitten?”  
  
Her smile was blinding and he almost looked around to see who else she might be looking at.  “Buffy?”  
  
“Hey, you.  How’re you feeling?”  She got up from the chair, lifting the infant in her arms to her shoulder, walking over the bed.  
  
“Better.  Who’s this then?”  Spike watched her carefully.  
  
“Wesley brought him.  You want the good news or the bad news first?”  She laid down next to him, the infant between them, waiting his response.    
  
“Does it matter?”  He wasn’t quite sure what was going on here and was feeling completely confused.  
  
“Nope,” her voice was quiet, mindful of the baby sleeping between them, “Not much is good.”  
  
“Tell me then.”  He shifted, trying to get more comfortable, moving almost onto his mostly  uninjured side to face her.  “This Angel’s sprog?”  
  
Her hand brushing over the baby’s back, Buffy looked at him, a little laugh in her voice, “If by that you mean if this is his son, that’s what Wesley said.”  Sobering quickly, she continued, “Wes also said he’s lost his soul and Darla is dust.”  
  
“Fuck.”  Spike knew this was worse than he’d expected.  “Gimme the rest of the news, love.”  
  
“I’m not sure this rest is really news.  Oz was with Tara last night,” at his raised eyebrow she giggled, “I don’t think it was like that, you pig.  Do you remember what happened?”  When he nodded, she continued, “Kirsten is gone.  She slipped out while everyone was asleep and Dawn was in here with us.  She fought last night.”  
  
“Yeah, I seem to remember that.  Chit saved me, did she?”  Looking at her closely, he said, “Thought she was you at first.  She reminded me of you the first time I saw her.”  
  
“She’s too strong to be just a regular girl.  She fought off almost six knights before I got there.”  Buffy’s face took on a pensive look.  “Could she be like me?  Maybe a could-be-slayer?”  
  
“Dunno, pet.  She’s somethin’ else, dunno if it’s that, or,” He hesitated, trying to find the words for what his brain was thinking, “She sounded like you, not just . . . somethin’ ‘bout her, love.”  
  
“Well, she was here, until sometime this morning.”  Buffy watched his face for signs of fatigue and pain.  “Are you feeling any better?”  
  
“Yeah.  Head’s not so fuzzy.  Fractures are doin’ better.”  The baby mewled, drawing their attention away from Spike’s injuries, “Sprog have a name?”  
  
Buffy looked up, a horrified yet amused look in her eyes, “I didn’t. . . oh my god. . . what kind of . . . I never even asked.  How horrible am I?”  
  
Spike grinned at her, a laugh threatening in his eyes, “Pro’ly jus’ slipped your mind.  We’ll jus’ call him Sprog for now.”  
  
Buffy had looked back down at the baby, missing the laughter in his eyes but at his words, she gasped, saying, “Spike we can’t . . that’s.”   She shifted her gaze to look at him, only then realizing he was teasing her.  “Not funny, Spike.”  
  
“Yeah, it is.  Peaches’ get w’out a proper name, leavin’ it for me to do.”  Spike’s eyes gleamed with further mischief, “Think I’ll call ‘im Spawn.”  
  
“What?  That’s . . . why would you call him Spawn?”  
  
“Cause tha’s what he is.  Spawn of Angelus and Darla.”  He tried holding back his mirth, though it was impossible.  “What else could he be?”  
  
Buffy finally responded to the teasing glint in his eye, giggling softly along with him.  “So not nice, Spike.”  
  
“‘M evil, love.  Can’t expect better from me.”  
  
She ignored his statement, instead focusing on the baby sleeping between them.  Her hand smoothed down his back, running over his head.  She could smell his scent from where she was, he smelled so sweet.  A wave of longing unexpectedly surged through her, catching her off guard.  Buffy fought the tears, hiding her expression from Spike, not wanting him to think the tears were because this was Angel’s son.  That was something she almost didn’t care about.  It was just the fact of a baby, and them, lying in this bed, that was enough to cause the longing.  She had no idea where the emotion had even come from, yet suddenly it was there, clawing in her throat.  Trying to hide the tears, she sighed, shifting closer to the two of them.    
  
However, Spike was watching her closely, knew when she started to fight tears, knew when her breathing hitched.  He thought he had an idea what was running through her mind, though he was afraid to call attention to it.  This was _Angel’s_ son after all, the child of her first love, and the one thing she’d never expected to see.  Part of him hoped that it was just a baby she was reacting to, and it would have happened with any baby, though a bigger part of him was convinced the tears were because it was Angel’s.  He gingerly rolled onto his back, grimacing with pain and emotions he didn’t want to face.    
  
Her hand reached out to touch his face, running over his cheekbones and down along his jaw line.  The tension and pain that had bloomed with his movements eased with her touch and he closed his eyes both to hide from her concern and from the emotions swirling between them.    
  
Spike wanted to mark her as his in so many ways that the sheer number was staggering.  He wanted to bite her, claiming her as his, he wanted to brand himself into her soul so that long after he was dust and she was gone, they would still be bound.  He wanted to be so indelibly marked on her that everyone, demon, hellspawn, human, everyone she came into contact with would know that she belonged to him.   He wanted it with a presence that was as real as the miraculous infant sleeping between them.  He wanted that baby . . . to be theirs.   Wanted to see her . . .  gods, she was sunshine and light now, he couldn’t imagine how much more incandescent she would be.    
  
Her warm hand stopped moving just over the spot where his heart used to beat, pushing aside the sheet covering his skin.  His good hand came up to capture hers, despite his brain’s inclination to keep some distance between them at this moment.    
  
He’d gotten his crumbs.  
  
He’d gotten _more_.  
  
Now he wanted _everything_.  
  
Spike stopped breathing, when her fingers ghosted once more over his lips, her words a breath in the air between them.  “Should be ours.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Once at the mall, Wesley had handed Tara a stack of bills, saying, “I’ve got more if you need it.”   Then they’d split up, Dawn trailing after Tara and the guys going off together.    
  
They made short work of the mall excursion knowing that time was now their single biggest enemy.  While Angelus might have temporarily been slowed by the breaking of his leg, none of them was willing to take the chance of being caught outside without some more substantial form of protection than what they had now.    
  
The trip from the mall to the Magic Box was undertaken in silence, each one of them lost in their own thoughts.  Dawn and Oz were the only two with first hand knowledge of what Angelus was capable of, although both Wesley and Tara had heard the tales.    Wesley also had read the Watcher’s Journals, and his mind was grimly focused on going over Angelus’ weaknesses, if there were any.    
Dawn sat in the back of the truck, her legs crossed, going through some of the baby things she and Tara had picked up.  They’d gotten the basics, plus another package of diapers and a case of formula, and Dawn had insisted on one little extra.  There was a blue baby blanket that she’d thought was just adorable and had quietly whined until Tara gave in and allowed her to throw it in their basket.  She was holding it now, running her fingers over the satin edges, hoping that everything was fine at home.  And also hoping that the baby’s father stayed far, far away.  
  
Tara was running through more of the practical things that were going to be needed, extra food, formula, diapers, the supplies from the Magic Box and any thing else to keep her mind on the present and not worry about what might be coming for them in the next few nights.   She had no real comprehension of what Angelus was capable of, had only one thing really to balance against it, and from what little she had gathered, Angelus was on a Glory-level of badness.  And that was bad.        
She almost was afraid to ask just how bad.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She couldn’t possibly have said what he’d thought she said.  Spike kept his eyes closed, afraid to make a sound.   Buffy had always had the ability to render him speechless and senseless.  Her fingers were back on his chest and he could feel her eyes on his profile.  
  
Buffy was equally stunned.  She hadn’t meant to just blurt that out.  Hadn’t meant to say that out loud, at least.  Not that she didn’t mean it – because she did – but more because she was afraid he felt differently.  A baby . . . their baby would prove to him that she felt just as strongly as he did.  But if he didn’t want that . . . she just knew that it would be one more way to bind themselves together.    
One more thing to make him want to stay and never leave her.    
  
The enormity of what he’d done last night, fighting off humans to save her sister, wasn’t lost on her.  He’d known, going into the fight that he was going up against something he couldn’t fight and still he hadn’t hesitated, apparently hadn’t even thought to do otherwise.  It was just further solidification for her that his feelings ran very deeply both for herself and Dawn.  Maybe she should just tell him what that meant to her.  Try to tell him how she was feeling, what she was feeling.  Could. . . she actually say the words?  Or would that be the end for them?  Would he disappear . . . not because he wanted to but because that was just what happened when she loved someone?  Could she take the risk?    
  
Did she trust him enough with her heart?  
  
His chest was warm beneath her hand, stealing heat from her, solid and strong.  Even without the beat, just being close to him was comforting, was . . . safe.  There was safety in his arms, safety knowing he was with her.  She’d already faced that, accepted that, known that.  He’d taken the leap before her, placed his unbeating heart in her hands, laid it out and given it to her.  Trusted her with his love.  And that was no small thing.  Not something to be sloughed off and made light of, it was as big a deal as her . . . loving him back.  To love her, to be with her, he’d turned his back on everything he was, everything that made him what he was.    
  
Spike was a demon.  No soul like Angel to set him apart, nothing but his own sheer force of will, from other demons.  Pure, unadulterated demon.  And yet he walked that shadowy place between light and dark far better than Angel ever had.  He fought beside her for the best of reasons, for truly the only reason there was to fight.  Spike fought for love.  Because he loved.    
  
And the chip?   The chip was nothing more than a piece of hardware designed to stop him from hurting humans.  The chip didn’t stop him from ordering minions around, didn’t stop him from getting other demons to do his bidding.  And the chip sure as hell didn’t direct him to take a beating to protect Dawn – take two beatings.  Neither did the chip make him go out and patrol for her, all summer when she was gone and then again recently,  before she was ready to do it on her own.  The chip was just a hindrance.  Last night, had the chip not been there, she wouldn’t have had to worry so much, wouldn’t have had fear choking her the entire night.  He’d have been able to fight off the humans, and those humans?  She so wouldn’t have minded if he’d killed more than the couple he did.  She would have been happy if he’d killed them all.    
  
Giles said he trusted Spike with or without the chip.  Could she do any less?  How silly was it that she slept beside him and pretended that she didn’t trust him.  She let him bite her . . . and there had been no question of him hurting her, though he could still drain her – every single time he bit.  Except he didn’t.  He always stopped himself, usually long before she thought he was done.  Even earlier this morning, Spike hadn’t taken a lot.  He’d taken barely enough to start his healing.    
  
He fought her battles because he loved her.  Not because it was expedient to do so, not because it served his purposes, but for one simple reason – her.  He loved her.  Told her so all the time – showed it, god how he showed it, every day.  Some days, like yesterday, a _nd was it really only yesterday?_ He more than proved it.    
  
Sure he didn’t always have the best of ways to show it, at least not in the very beginning, that moment when he’d tied up her and Drusilla, in an effort to make her see that something was brewing between them, always came to mind.  And she’d thrown it back in his face, told him the only time he’d had a chance was when she was unconscious.  He’d begged for something, a crumb. . . well, she’d given him crumbs.  Given him cookies, cakes, sweets, whatever it was he’d been asking for a crumb of. . .  But now there was so much more.    
  
The words ached to be said, caught in her throat, choking her with their intensity.  Her fingers flexed on his chest and his came up to entangle with hers.  A soft smile graced her features as she realized he always instinctively knew just what she needed, sometimes, even before she herself knew it.  His eyes were closed, the dark lashes resting against his pale cheeks, only the slight tensing of his muscles there an indication that he was still awake and not sleeping.  He’d been uncharacteristically silent for a long time, far longer than she’d ever imagined he could be in a moment like this.   Buffy watched his face, almost amazed at this man, _and yes he was a man,_ who gave everything for her.  

  
Taking a deep breath and more than aware she was about to make the biggest leap of faith in her life, even counting the jump from Glory’s tower, Buffy tried to get the words out. She was more afraid of this . . . of admitting her feelings than she was of facing down an entire nest of vampires, or a swarm of fyarls.  Maybe. . . she could build up to it.  Tell him . . . _just_ –  “Spike.”  
  
He angled his head toward her, looking at her from beneath his lashes, his eyes hidden from her.  “I was so scared last night. . . didn’t. . .  I don’t know what I’d have done if . . you had. . .” Her voice broke, the harsh whisper full of unshed tears.  “And you were all broken. . . but at least you weren’t gone.  Were still with me.”  
  
Opening his mouth to speak, Spike felt her fingers cross his lips, holding his words silent.  “Wait, please?  Let me try.”  Gathering her courage, Buffy cleared her throat, swallowing back the tears that kept threatening, “I need you so much, I can’t do this alone.  Don’t know how to do this alone anymore.”  
  
Spike was watching her now, his eyes wide open and concerned, focused on her. Her eyes were a brilliant green, shot with gold and silver, and he was lost in them.  His lips pursed against her fingers in a kiss and her answering smile was radiant.  Her eyelids fluttered closed, then opened again, “Spike . . . you . . . you.”  
  
“Shhh, kitten.”  
  
Shaking her head again, Buffy whispered, “My heart, Spike, it’s . . . it’s in your hands.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Anya was on the phone with Giles when the group walked into the Magic Box.  Wesley was the first in the door and he mumbled a greeting at the former demon.  Motioning him over, Anya said, “Wesley just walked in now.”  
  
She handed him the phone and faced the other three, taking in their drawn and tired expressions.  With characteristic bluntness, she launched right into her concerns, “You all look like crap.  Rupert said I should make sure you have everything you need and that I’m not to charge you.  I want you to know,” as she huffed somewhat indignantly, “that since it’s so important I was going to give you a discount.  We can’t possibly make a profit this week if I give you everything for free.”  
  
Tara and Dawn shared an amused look, while Oz tried to figure out what whirlwind he’d just walked into.  This was like old times gathered around the library, and he was struck with a sense of deja vu.  There were a few new faces and some missing from the old days, but the situation was, ironically enough, quite similar to what used to happen when they were in high school.    
  
The girls knew Anya was just blustering, although sometimes she could be shrill and a bit off-putting, especially if you didn’t know her all that well.  Tara walked over to Oz, whispering, “She’s like this sometimes, you just have to get used to her.”  
  
Despite the former demon’s protests otherwise, both girls knew that she’d give them whatever they needed, even without Giles’ say so.  This was an emergency and Anya never really quibbled about those.    
  
Anya walked over to where Dawn was sitting at the table, then sat down beside her.  Dawn was playing with one of the books that had been left out, not really focused on what was in her hands.  “Dawn?”  
  
When the younger girl glanced in her direction, Anya continued, “You do know that unless you use a stake or cut off their heads, vampires always recover.  Eventually.”  
  
“I know that.”  She knew Anya was just trying to be comforting and helpful, but she really wasn’t being either of those things.  Dawn looked away, then mumbled, “Doesn’t matter, though.  Coz it’s all my fault anyway.”  
  
“Because why?”  Anya had heard her, despite Dawn’s efforts to not be heard.  
  
“Because I’m who I am.  Because I’m the Key.”  Dawn slammed the book down, then got to her feet to escape from Anya’s pointed questions.  “It’s all been my fault.  All of this.”  
  
Dawn headed for the training room, tears threatening, when Wesley hung up the phone and cut her off.  “Dawn.”  
  
“Leave me alone, Wes.  Just . . don’t.”  He’d reached out a hand to stop her forward movement but she pushed him off.    
  
The adults watched her go, none of them sure of what to say.  Tara turned to Anya, about to say something, when she caught the look on the other girl’s face and realized there was nothing she could say to Anya.  There were tears in Anya’s eyes and it was obvious whatever had transpired between the two struck a chord with Anya.  “She thinks it’s all her fault.”  
  
“Her fault?”  Tara and Wesley spoke at the same time.  
  
“That’s what she said.  That it’s because she’s the Key.”  Anya’s answer was muffled.    
  
Before Tara could react, Wesley was at the door to the training room, listening intently for any sounds from within.   Motioning the others to quiet, Wesley opened the door and stuck his head in.  Dawn was huddled on the couch, curled up on herself, crying softly.  
  
He slipped into the room, watching her intently, “Dawn?”    
  
“Leave me alone.”  She said from behind clenched teeth, her hands fisted against her knees, her shoulders hunched over.  “Just go away.”  
  
“Dawn.”  Wesley was at something of a loss.  He wasn’t sure how to approach this, yet part of him wanted to try.  He liked Dawn and didn’t want her blaming herself for everything, even one tiny little bit of it.  “Let me ask you a question.  Angel’s lost his soul because of the baby’s presence.  Granted the baby doesn’t know that now, so do you think that when he gets older he’ll feel any differently than you do at this moment?”  
  
She didn’t say anything.  He wasn’t even certain she was even listening to him.  Wesley shoved his hands down into his jeans pockets, waiting for her to respond.  Shifting his gaze about, Wesley took in all the equipment around him.  _This really is a remarkable set up Giles has going.  The shop out front was definitely pulling in a nice little profit, given the number of customers that had been leaving when they arrived, and this room is simply marvelous._ Attention caught by the knives on display over Dawn’s head, Wesley almost didn’t hear her response to his question.  
  
“Would you tell him that?  Would you tell that little baby he’s the reason why everything went wrong in his life?  That his mother killed herself so he could be born and other people died so he could live?”  Dawn couldn’t look up at Wesley, didn’t even want to be having this conversation with anyone, much less him.  
  
“I don’t know.”  He sighed a little, absently kicking the couch, then walked about the room, his attention on the things around him, although his focus was definitely on her.  “You see, he’s really innocent.  He didn’t ask to be brought into this situation, it just sort of happened that way.”    
  
He paused, trying to gather his thoughts on the matter, “Much like you.  You didn’t ask to be brought into this situation and you don’t have control over every factor that causes these results.  You and Connor are only,” and he paused again, trying to be logical and yet sympathetic at the same time, “Perhaps pawns is not the best word, however it’s the only one I can think of at the moment.”  
  
Dawn sniffled at bit, wiping her eyes with one hand.  She looked at Wesley, seeing how hard he was trying to balance the equation for her, help her understand it all and perhaps put it into perspective.  She was grateful for his logical side at the moment, because she couldn’t deal with any emotions other than her own.  “Still.  Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna feel guilty about it.  Spike wouldn’t have gotten hurt. . . if I was just nothing special.”   
  
“You can’t know that.  Something else might have occurred to put you in harm’s way and Spike would have gotten hurt just as badly.  Something else might have happened to cause Angel to lose his soul.”  Wesley was facing her now, watching her every move.  “We can’t be certain of the future.  Nor can we blame ourselves for everything that happens around us.”  
  
Wesley moved closer to her, scrunching down on his haunches to look in her eyes.  “And Dawn,” he said, reaching for her hands, “I really don’t think Spike would want you to do this to yourself.”  
  
She shook her head in agreement, “He already said . . .”  Her tears fell on their joined hands, “He already said. . . that he loves me.  And . . . and that it wasn’t my fault.”  
  
“He’s not the type to lie.  He meant what he said Dawn.”  His arm came around her awkwardly, then he helped her to her feet, continuing, “And I don’t think he’d want us wasting time worrying about things over which we have no control.”  
  
He hugged her once, then waited while she wiped her eyes and they moved back into the shop area.  Wesley hoped to hell and back that Spike would be up and around soon, because he didn’t relish facing Angelus on his own with a distracted Slayer and precious little other back-up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from a duet sung by Maire Ni Bhraonain of Clannad and Bono from that other Irish band and appears on the Clannad album Macalla. The song is entitled In a Lifetime and gods above it’s just gorgeous.


	11. The real stuff of life.

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter Eleven.  The real stuff of life.  
  
Oh, God, I know no joy as great as a moment of rushing into a new love,   
no ecstasy like that of a new love.   
I swim in the sky; I float;   
my body is full of flowers,   
flowers with fingers giving me acute, acute caresses,   
sparks, jewels, quivers of joy, dizziness, such dizziness.   
Music inside of one, drunkenness.   
Only closing the eyes and remembering,   
and the hunger, the hunger for more, more, the great hunger,   
the voracious hunger, and thirst."   
    Anais Nin, May 30, 1934 from Incest **_  
  
  
  
  
  
He knew she didn’t confess her feelings easily.  That it was hard for her to admit the way she felt.  She had such capacity for love, could give herself over to it completely, could drown in it – if only every single time she’d done so in the past hadn’t gotten her poor little heart stomped on.  
  
Spike looked at her, saw the fear lurking in the green depths of her sparkling eyes and his own heart nearly broke.  The wariness crept in the longer he remained silent, afraid to trust him, afraid not to.    
“Buffy?”  
  
His good hand came up to brush against her cheek.  “You’re my world, love.  ‘M yours.”  
  
She’d closed her eyes when he’d said her name, unable to hold his direct gaze.  She’d opened them again when his knuckles brushed against her skin.  Her eyes grew impossibly wider when Spike’s words echoed the ones he’d said in her dream.  
  
 _Was this it?  Was this the moment the dream was foreshadowing?_ Buffy stared at him, a growing something . . . awareness in the pit of her belly.  She had the feeling this was one of those moments in life, that if she didn’t follow her instincts – that, if she didn’t leap – this chance would never come again.  And if she didn’t, things would change between them . . . and eventually he _would_ leave her. Not because he didn’t love her, but because she wouldn’t trust herself to love him back.  
  
Buffy opened her mouth and the words came tumbling out.  “Yours.   I’m yours. . . I don’t want anyone else. . . you . . . only you, Spike.”  
  
His hand froze against her, his eyes burning into hers.  Spike drew in a deep breath.  “God, woman. . . . what you do to me. . .   Always . . . always, yours.”  
  
“Love you.”    
  
He smiled crookedly at her, unable to be any more eloquent than she’d been.  His mind was racing, kept coming back to one thing, how she’d looked when she’d said, “Yours”.  
  
The simultaneous cry of the baby and the phone ringing broke their focus on each other.  Neither one was sure what to do, until Spike said, “Give me the phone, you take the sprog.”  
  
Buffy handed him the phone then lifted the baby into her arms.  He settled down almost immediately, allowing Buffy to hear both sides of the conversation.  It was Tara, giving them an update and letting them know they’d be a bit longer, because Anya wanted a disinvite spell and wards put on the shop, designed specifically for Angel.  
  
Spike had rolled over onto his back to hold the phone to his ear and Buffy eyed his bare chest.  It made such a comfy pillow.  With the baby tucked into the crook of her arm, Buffy laid her head down on Spike’s shoulder, her back to his side, moving his arm until she was more comfortable.  He grunted when she nearly knocked the phone from his hand and the baby sent up another wail, this time a more insistent one.    
  
“Think he’s a bit hungry?”  Buffy sat up again, taking the phone away from Spike and looking around for the bottle Tara had left with her earlier.    
  
Spike’s stomach growled loudly and Buffy fought a giggle.  “Must be.  Both babies are hungry.  Need some nummy treats?”  The last was said to a now fully crying baby and Buffy got up from the bed.  “Ssshhhh. All right, baby.  Gonna get the bottle.”    
  
There was another answering growl from Spike, causing outright laughter from Buffy.  “So didn’t know vamps did that.”    
  
“Quiet, missy.  When I’m back on my feet . . .”  He mock growled at her, amusement twinkling in his eyes, then he winced at a particularly piercing wail from the baby.  
  
“Oooohh the Big Bad is gonna get me?”  Buffy was searching frantically, until she remembered that they’d put the bottle in the bathroom sink to keep it warm, since they had no idea when the baby was going to need to eat again.  Her laughter floating behind her, she headed for it, saying “I’m soooo scared. . . . can’t you see me shaking?”  
  
“Jus’ you wait, little girl.  Big Bad’s gonna give you what for.”  He rumbled back at her, his eyes staring at her backside as she left the room.  
  
“Promise?”  She was standing at the doorway, infant and bottle in hand, gazing into his eyes.  
  
“Yeah.”  Their teasing had taken a serious turn and the promise of intense lovemaking lay between them.  
  
“I can wait then.”  She made her way back to the bed, reclaiming her spot next to him.  As she was getting settled, Buffy asked, “Can you reach my neck from here?”  
  
“Buffy?  You want to do this now?”  Spike rolled over to cuddle against her, his injured arm resting on her hip and his good curling up under her head.    
  
“Might as well.  Gotta stay still for the baby and,” she sort of shrugged, feeling her shoulder brush against his, “you need to eat as much as he does.”  
  
“Do you know how much I love you?”  Not really expecting an answer, Spike leaned closer, kissing her shoulder.  “Any idea at all?”  
  
“Think I’m getting the picture.”  She smiled as he continued to lay kisses on her shoulder.  She shifted her head, dropping it down from the pillow to rest only on his good arm, exposing her neck for him.  An almost purr rumbled from his upper chest and Buffy felt the vibrations all the way through her body.  She couldn’t help the answering wriggle from her hips nor the soft “mmmmm” from escaping her.    
  
He chuckled against her neck, whispering, “Baby likes that?”  
  
His answer was a soft exhalation that suspiciously sounded like a breathy moan of, “Yes.”  
  
Spike licked her pulse point, Buffy moving closer and he tried holding her still.  “Princess, can’t do more than this.  Need you to stay still.   Don’t need to give the sprog an education this early.”  He breathed heavily against her neck, fascinated as the goose bumps rose on her skin, “But by god, kitten, I want you so much.”  
  
“Spike.”  She whined his name softly, unconsciously hugging the baby tighter.  
  
“Love you.”  
  
She could feel him shift behind her and knew the second he nuzzled against her with extended canines.  He kissed her one more time and then gently, slowly sunk his fangs into her neck.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
He hadn’t expected them to stand up to him, they were after all, swayed by emotional ties and had been caught by surprise.  
  
Obviously happiness came in more than one form.  The grin widened across his squared features. _Isn’t that a kicker . . ._ the great soul wrenched free by a tiny little baby.  
  
Unfortunately for them that little stunt – Gunn slamming his huge boot down on his ankle – hadn’t done what he’d obviously intended.  His leg wasn’t broken just badly bruised.  They weren’t  his first prey though, no, not by a long shot.  So he’d let them all go, let them stew in their fear, worry about who was going to be first. . . .  Let them wonder.  He knew where he was headed.    
  
He had to eliminate the one person he knew who could restore the soul.  Once she was gone – his sights were set on the Slayer.  And her traitor.  
 _  
Oh, yeah.  The traitor was going to die._  
  
But not until he watched all of them suffer and beg for release first.  
 _  
First little Willow._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
It took her a more than full night’s sleep until the backlash from the summoning had finally worn off.  She still felt groggy and a little fuzzy though for the most part she was feeling much better.  
  
Making her way to the bathroom, Willow figured a hot shower would help.  Ducking her head over the sink Willow didn’t notice until she stood up and faced the mirror.  Blinking at her altered reflection, Willow shook her head once more.  _Huh. . . need some sunlight, I guess._  
  
Shrugging the changes off as a trick of the light, Willow stepped into the shower.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Between them, Wesley and Tara came up with wards that would work to keep Angelus from doing harm if he ever managed to get into the shop.  Tara had left an opening for Spike although she wasn’t entirely certain it would work.  They’d worked quickly, trying to get as much covered in as quick a time as possible, knowing they had to get back to Revello Drive before full dark.  It was now nearly seven and sundown was less than an hour away.  
  
Anya was closing the shop at seven and heading directly home.  Until the Angelus situation was resolved she wasn’t keeping the shop open passed seven – on Giles’ orders, and – again on Giles’ orders, the mail order business would take priority.  Live customers could wait.  He’d actually prefer if she wasn’t in the shop alone, although at the same time, he didn’t want Buffy or Wesley to leave Spike alone.  
  
 _Though_ , Tara thought, _I can’t imagine that Spike will be in bed longer than a couple of days._   There was no doubt in her mind that Buffy wouldn’t let Spike drink from her.  Tara was positive she’d done it when the hounds had nearly severed his wrist.  There couldn’t be any reason why she would refuse him now.  Her intuition was telling her that Giles knew it also.  In this case it was the best course of action, they had too many unknown assailants, the knights, Angelus, the hounds . . . the number kept growing.  If they didn’t get some good luck soon, Tara wasn’t sure they’d all survive.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy was watching the baby drink, his tiny lips wrapped around the nipple, formula pooling at the corners of his mouth.  He was a cute baby.  Hard to tell right now who he resembled, though  Buffy thought he had more of Darla’s looks than Angel’s, though his dark hair had to be from his father.  She smiled, imagining what her own might look like.  The probability of her having a blond baby was unlikely, since she was pretty sure Spike’s natural color was not bleach white.    
 _  
Damn it._  
  
She was trying not to think about him while he was . . . feeding, _because his bite . . . Oh god_ , his bite was intoxicating, taking her away, transporting her some place. . .  It was almost like being in that other place. . .  Memories of heaven were getting dimmer everyday, although being with him was akin to that feeling.  Safe.  Loved.  Protected.    
  
Involuntarily, Buffy’s hips wriggled again and Spike tried flexing his fingers around her hip, silently asking her to be still.  
  
Lifting his head away from her neck slightly, Spike said, “Kitten, please. . . can’t. . .” His breath was warmed by her blood and still it caused shivers down her spine.  “Wan’ t’be inside you, love, to feel you aroun’ me, warmin’ me, surroundin’ me . . . I wan’ tha’ more than I wan’ to get up an’ walk.”  
  
He licked her neck, closing the wounds.  “But I can’t, love. . . can’t be where I wan’.”  Slapping her butt with his closed fist, Spike play growled.  “So stop wrigglin’ an’ givin’ me ideas, woman.”  
  
Buffy giggled, though she did as he asked.  “Did you get enough?”  
  
“Yeah.  ‘M not taking any more.”  He sighed, resting his head against hers.  
  
“Why?”  She turned her chin, brushing against him.  “Spike, you need more.”  
  
“Buffy.  Can’t have you too weak either.  Won’t do anyone any good if we’re both too weak to fight.”  He nuzzled against her, “I’ll still be up and around quicker than you think.”  
  
“Are you just telling me all this Spike?  Or is this the truth?”  There was a sort of amused exasperation in her tone, though he easily picked up on it.  
  
“Buffy, headache is gone, ‘m talkin’, which means the fracture and broken jaw are healed.  There’s only a bit of an ache in m’right leg.”  He flexed the fingers of his right hand, feeling the skin stretch beneath the bandages.  “The rest will take a bit more time, but should be better by week’s end.”  
  
“Promise?”  
  
He pushed up as much as he could, using his uninjured arm.  “Promise, love.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
That show of strength was too much and Spike had to drop down heavily unto the pillow.  
  
“How soon?”  She asked again after feeling the bed dip from his weight.    
  
“Buffy.  Let it go.  Be up soon.”  
  
She could hear the growing aggravation in his voice, but she was concerned.  Didn’t want him just telling her he was going to be okay when he wasn’t.  
  
“Don’t tell me what I want to hear, Spike, tell me the truth.”  There was an edge in her voice that she couldn’t fight.  
  
“What’s today?”  His rising irritation wasn’t hard to miss.  
  
“Late Sunday afternoon.”  
  
“An’ how many times today have I drunk from you?  Three?  Four?”    
  
“Something like that.  Three.”  
  
“Plus yesterday.”  He couldn’t hide the leer in his tone, then he quickly sobered,  “‘M already healin’ kitten.  Can feel the bones knittin’ together.  Everythin’s right itchy.”  
  
He shifted, rolling onto his back, easing the pressure on his left leg.  “Should be up for a shower in the mornin’.  ‘Specially if I get more from you.”  
  
“So yeah, be up an’ around by the end o’the week.”  
  
“Okay.”  Resignation was clear in her tone and he knew she was just humoring him.  
  
There was one other thing on her mind but she wasn’t sure how to bring it up, how to tackle this subject at all.  Because she was sure not everyone was going to agree with her.  She had to make sure Giles wasn’t just saying ‘chip or no chip’ to placate her, because she was going to put that to the test.    
The chip . . .   
  
It was coming out.  As soon as she could arrange it.  Whether she had to go to the Council or to the Initiative, that chip was coming out.  
  
Spike wasn’t Angel, wasn’t likely to go on some ugly psychotic fish and friend killing spree – wasn’t going to stalk her or her friends, well . . .  He might put some fear into Xander, then again he probably deserved it.  He might threaten, might even throw a few punches, however Buffy didn’t believe for one second that Spike would kill Xander.  
  
Or anyone that really didn’t deserve it.  
  
The chip was their biggest weakness – their huge Achilles heel and she couldn’t allow that weakness.  
  
Anyone bent on destroying them had a way to defeat them.  All that had to be done was separate them and send humans after Spike – eventually he’d be unable to even defend himself . . . then he’d be gone. . . and it was so fresh in her mind that her breath caught on a sob and new tears sprang to her eyes.  
  
“Kitten?”  He heard the sob and felt her breath catch.  
  
Instead of answering, Buffy sat up, lifting the now full and very sleepy infant to her shoulder.  Turning to face him, she stared into his concerned eyes, wiping her tears on the baby’s back.  Blowing out a breath, she gathered her courage.  “It has to come out.”  
  
At first he had no idea what she meant, although the expression on her face, the set to her shoulders hinted what she was getting at.  
  
There was no keeping the surprise from his voice.  “What?”  
  
“The chip.”  Her jaw flexed, clenching a bit and her hold on the infant tightened.  A look he’d seen often enough crossed her features, telling Spike this wasn’t just a whim or spur of the moment decision.  Deciding not to question the what further, he tackled the why.  
  
“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this have you?”  He shifted, moving his left hand behind his head watching her closely.  
  
“Yeah, I have.”  Loosening her hands from around the baby’s back, Buffy didn’t flinch from his gaze.  “Last night just kind of decided it for me.”  
  
“What ‘bout me being a serial killer in prison?”  He’d objected to that statement the first time she’d thrown it in his face and he was now returning the favor.  
  
“You feel the urge to drain anyone lately?”  She had a feeling he was going to bring that up and she was kind of prepared for it.  
  
Before answering her, he gave the question the thought it required.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Wesley and Dawn were in the truck, waiting for Oz and Tara to finish grocery shopping, not really talking.  He was staring into space, his mind still focused on finding a weakness for Angelus.  There weren’t many.  He realized, however, that they currently had an untapped source of information about Angelus and how he fought and what, or rather, who he was most likely to target first.    
  
There was a possible list of candidates he kept rearranging in his head, going over the permutations of who was the mostly likely first target.  Any one of the AI team could be it; so to, could any one of the Scoobies; Holtz was also a possibility.  A chilling prospect would be if Angelus were to connect with any one of the employees of Wolfram and Hart – including, quite possibly Lilah Morgan.  Which would give him an advantage they might not be able to overcome.  Another thing Wesley didn’t want to contemplate.  
  
Dawn cleared her throat, then rested her head against the back of the seat Wesley was sitting on.  She was exhausted and the lack of sleep was beginning to tell.  Wesley shifted, looking over the back of the seat to look down at her.  “We’ll be home soon.”  
  
“Ah huh.”  She looked up at him, noting his exhaustion equaled or exceeded her own.  “I’m so tired.”  
  
Smiling down at her, Wesley laughed a bit.  “I know just how you are feeling.”  
  
A tired little twinkle entered her eyes.  “Oh, I bet you do Mr. Former Watcher guy.”  She laughed a bit, “You know, you used to be a real geek.”  
  
“Thanks, Dawn.”  He winced, remembering just how badly his first stay in Sunnydale had been, “Wasn’t exactly a shining moment for me.”  
  
“Was it so bad? “ Dawn wanted to know, how things were from his perspective, since what she remembered wasn’t real.  “Was it all bad?”  
  
“No.  It wasn’t all bad.”  Looking back, it really wasn’t, there had been some moments when things were settled, but then either his own overblown sense of importance and insecure need to force Giles out of the picture would surface and he’d destroyed whatever inroads he’d made.  “But it really wasn’t very good.”  
  
“Oh, vague it up a bit more, Wes.”  She stuck her tongue out at him, completely catching him off guard.  “Still with the cryptic talk.”  
  
He froze, realizing she was flirting with him, all at once unsure what to do.  _She is attractive, but good heavens, she is only fifteen years old._ Without any idea how to behave, Wesley was at a loss.  Falling back on his strengths, he launched into an excruciatingly detailed account of what it had really been like, at least from his view.  
  
Dawn listened, letting his voice wash over her, his presence giving her a bit of security.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Oz was hovering by the meat section, trying to decide what they needed more of, steak or bacon, while Tara was getting other stuff.  Wesley was outside with Dawn, both of them nearly out on their feet.  Once more Wesley had just handed them both a handful of bills, weariness etched on his features.    
  
He knew what he wanted to get and that would probably be okay with Spike and at least one of the girls although he wasn’t entirely sure his wishes counted in this instance.  
  
Contemplating his options, Oz smiled a little when Tara’s voice sounded in his ear.  “Get both.  We have a lot of people to feed.”  
  
“Hey.”  Glancing at her, Oz shrugged a little, “Not sure everyone eats it,” he lifted the steaks, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“I’m the only one that won’t.  But,” she whispered, leaning closer to her, “If this is around, I’m not responsible for what happens.”  As she spoke she grabbed the bacon from his hand.  
  
He smiled again, moving away to grab another package when an oh-so-familiar voice spoke.    
  
“Tara?”  
  
Turning around, Oz saw a stricken wounded look cross her features then she steeled herself to face the form of her ex-girlfriend.  He froze, aware that Willow hadn’t seen him  yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from Anais Nin, from Incest, a Journal of love (5 February 1934 entry) Full title quote is I seek the real stuff of life. Profound drama.


	12. A man trustworthy

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter Twelve.  A man trustworthy  
  
What is done out of love always takes place beyond good and evil.  
    Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, Aphorism 153  
  
The chief lesson I have learned in a long life   
is that the only way to make a man trustworthy is to trust him;   
and the surest way to make him untrustworthy is to distrust him and show your distrust.  
    Henry L. Stimson  
  
I count him braver who overcomes his desires   
than him who overcomes his enemies.  
    Artistotle, In Stobaeus, Florilegium**_  
  
  
  
He finally closed the book, his head swimming from the stuffy atmosphere of the library and the crabbed handwriting of some of the journals.  Giles took off his glasses with one hand, resting his head in the other.  He was the only one in the library on this late Sunday night, the rooms silent and hushed.  Thankfully the particular information he was searching for was readily available.  The myth of vampires having the ability to impregnate women was more than just that.  While it had been nearly three hundred years since the last reported case, there had been more than one.  
  
Each case was fairly well documented and in each case it appeared that Angel’s theory was borne out. Giles grimaced at his own internal pun.   In the six cases he’d uncovered, the women had all been dead and then mystically resurrected.  His mind raced through the possibilities – Darla, and well, now Buffy.  Not that she was pregnant – _yet_.   
  
Interestingly enough, so far all the cases had something else in common – every vampire involved was an Aurelian.  However it was entirely possible that the only reason the diaries mentioned Aurelian vampires was because of their status.  Very few Aurelians sired minions indiscriminately, thereby preserving the bloodlines, additionally the Aurelius line produced an inordinate number of master vampires.  
  
It had come as no great surprise that there was considerable mention in the Council’s libraries of Aurelian vampires, as a whole they were indeed, a “master race”.  
  
What also hadn’t really come as much of a surprise was the rise of the William the Bloody.  Giles had suspected much of the information, his findings merely confirming his suppositions.  
  
Sired by either Drusilla or Angelus around 1880 (and he knew for a fact it was Drusilla); rose to master status in less than ten years – defeated his first Slayer in 1900 – the diaries mentioned other battles with Slayers – spanning nearly a century and the globe – Spike had set out to prove himself.  By attaining his status as master, Spike had also elevated Drusilla to the same.  
  
What struck Giles was the difference between the two vampires he knew well.  While most Aurelians did not sire minions, Angelus had done so freely, twice in the last one hundred years, the first time immediately following Spike’s turning and then again recently, when the soul had been removed.  According to the books, Spike had never sired more than a handful of minions, if that many.  Another marked difference was while Spike preferred outright battling and open warfare,  Angelus chose to stalk and frighten his prey – much as he had done with Drusilla, and what he’d attempted to do with Buffy.  
  
There was a certain amount of chilling honesty in William the Bloody’s behavior.  No subterfuge, no hidden agenda, just open face to face confrontations.  His willingness to face his opponents said much for his character.  If he said he was going to do something, he did.  His loyalty was unquestionable and there was a rather gallant air about him.  Oddly enough, there were little records of him torturing his victims while in Angelus’ case there were copious references to his brutality.  
  
Giles sighed, feeling the strain of hours of research spent in an uncomfortable chair.  Whatever had driven Angel away from Sunnydale, and Giles was beginning to suspect while Angel claimed it was because of the futility of his relationship with Buffy, he used that as merely an excuse and not clearly the real reason.  He suspected they might never know the real truth.  
  
If he were being honest with himself, Giles would be happy if Angel were to take up residence somewhere else.  Some place further away like the inactive hellmouth in New York or London . . . or Singapore . . . or another dimension.  Somewhere very, very far away.  
  
Once more going over his mental to-do-list, Giles added another item as an addendum; Find a neurosurgeon capable of performing surgery on a vampire.  
  
There hadn’t been any discussion of this with Buffy or Spike, though after speaking with her earlier, Giles had to at least be prepared for the possibility that she would be open to having the chip removed.  
  
The chip was a liability.    
  
Spike knew it.  Giles knew it.  And he was beginning to wonder if Buffy might know it as well.  If they were going to be a truly effective team, neither Buffy nor Spike could afford such an obvious weakness.  The chip was far too exploitable, leaving Spike far too vulnerable to attack.  
  
And if the possibility of parenthood were thrown into the equation, with a further possibility of more human assailants – then, well, Giles was certain the chip would need to be either removed or neutralized.  He had no doubts at all that either the Council or Wolfram & Hart would be tempted to get their hands on any child produced by the two.  Or any number of other entities desiring control or power.  There was no telling what the child of a vampire and a Slayer could do, what powers or talents such a child would possess.  
  
Any child of a slayer was destined for scrutiny by the Council; should that child be also half vampire, Giles had no idea what the Council’s reaction would be.  Wolfram & Hart would be just as . . . _curious.  Which was_ , he thought, a _rather mild word for the amount of interest such a child would garner._  
  
Getting up from his chair, Giles headed for the listings of known demon surgeons.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Anya was just locking the door and setting the alarm before slipping out the back door, heading directly to the apartment she shared with Xander, when she realized just how late it was.  
  
The only illumination was from the street lights on Main Street and there were only a few people out walking.  Most of them were going to or coming from the Espresso Pump so she wasn’t really paying attention to faces or forms.  
  
She had every confidence that the warding and the disinvite Tara and Wesley had done earlier would be more than adequate. She’d also sent a quick plea out to D’Hoffryn, and although protection was not strictly his expertise, she knew he’d watch out for her.  Which kind of explained why she didn’t flinch when a dark hulking shadow came up from behind her.  
  
However, when a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder, her shrieked surprise had her boyfriend covering his ears.  
  
“Gee, Ahn, did you have to try and wake the dead?”  Xander winced at the pitch of her voice.  
  
“Xander!  Why did you do that?  I’m here all alone and you . . .” She swatted him on one shoulder.  “Not good, Xander!  You made me shriek and I hurt my ears.”  
  
“You hurt your ears?”  Xander looked at her in disbelief.  “Ahn, I called you twice before I came closer, didn’t you hear me?”  
  
“No.  I was thinking.”  Realizing Xander didn’t know what was going on, she said, “Wesley was here earlier.  Something happened in Los Angeles and Angel has lost his soul.”  
  
Xander wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly.  He wasn’t quite sure what to say.  He’d always had this sneaky suspicion that someday Angel would slip and the soul would disappear.  Staring at her for a few moments, Xander just tried to process the information.  “Why was Wesley here?”  
  
“He brought word from Los Angeles.”  They hadn’t said anything to Anya about why Wesley had come and not just called, nor did she know how Angel had lost the soul.  
  
“So who was the unlucky girl?   Do we have to worry about an Angel groupie too?”  Xander grabbed her hand, pulling her after him toward the back door.  “What did Buffy say?”  
  
“I don’t know, Xander.  Buffy wasn’t here.  She was home with Spike.”  Completely missing the disgust on Xander’s face, she went on, “Tara and Wesley put up stronger wards and they also did a disinvite.  Angel’s never been to our apartment so we don’t have to worry about that.  Oh, and Giles called, he thinks he’ll be home before the end of the week, but he doesn’t want me in the store alone after dark.”  
  
Xander was more than half listening this time, though his mind was still focusing on Angelus.  “Ahn?  Did Wesley say why Angel lost his soul?”  
  
“No, Xander.  I don’t believe he did.”  Anya huffed at him, clearly peeved that once again he wasn’t paying attention to her.  “Sometimes I don’t know why I talk to you.”  
  
“Me either.”  His words were a half attempted response to her, but an extremely unthinking and hurtful one.  
  
Small tears sprang to Anya’s eyes while she bit her tongue.  Staying uncharacteristically silent, Anya kept her thoughts and wounded heart to herself.  She really was beginning to question her relationship with Xander.  
  
She silently fumed the whole way home, not even questioning Xander when he changed his mind and turned the car towards Revello Drive.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Tara?”  Willow’s voice wavered, emotions leaking through, pain and loss coming through in bell-like clarity.  Oz winced, knowing he was witnessing something he, above all people, probably shouldn’t be.  
  
“Hello, Willow.”  For some strange reason, Tara wasn’t nervous or upset or drawn in by the sound of Willow’s voice.  The butterflies were there, but they weren’t crippling her and she wasn’t  feeling at all apprehensive.  
  
“Hey.  How – how are you?”  Willow, on the other hand, Willow was very nervous, Tara could clearly see it.  She was fidgeting, her hands fluttering at her sides and she was shifting her weight from one foot to another.  
  
“Good.  I’m good.”  Knowing she expected it, Tara asked, “How about you?”  
  
“Okay, I guess.”  Willow clearly didn’t know what to do next.  A flash of pity surged through Tara, but she quickly squashed it.  Despite outward . . . Tara finally looked at her ex-girlfriend.  
  
Willow’s normal complexion was _gone_ , that almost sun-kissed look gone, replaced by a paler version and _was that?  Yeah. . ._ Willow’s hair was darker, the red shot through with almost black highlights.  Tara’s internal alarms went off and her back stiffened.  Whatever internal changes the paleness and hair marked, they weren’t good changes.  Taking an imperceptible step back, Tara said, “That’s good then.”  
  
Opening up her senses, Tara tried to get a reading on Willow’s aura, even though her own emotions were blocking her.  Drawing in a deep breath, she tried centering herself and realized that Oz was close, unobtrusively watching them.  A sudden flash of insight let Tara know should something happen, Oz would come to her aid – and not automatically side with his ex-girlfriend.  Taking another deep breath, Tara focused inward, drawing power and strength from the universe in, and on her exhalation, reached out with all her senses, reading Willow.  
  
What she discovered was not good.   
  
_Willow . . . Willow what have you done?   All is not what you think . . . be careful what you wish for. . . oh gods, Willow. . . my gods.  What have you done?  Poor Buffy . . . poor Spike.  
_  
Tara’s horrified thoughts were halted when Willow’s tentative, wavering voice interrupted her.  “Tara?  Do you think maybe we could talk?  You know just . . . talk?  With coffee?  Or something?”  
  
Tara recoiled violently, the ugliness that was creeping into the other girl revolting her.  Back stepping away, Tara started shaking her head in denial, unable to form words.  
  
Oz perked up from his spot just out of Willow’s line of sight, his nose getting a scent of Tara’s that was not so much fear, but . . . covering his own mild apprehension, Oz stepped out from behind the Hostess display, pretending he didn’t know what was going on.  
  
“Thought I’d lost you,” taking the bacon from Tara’s hand he tossed it into the basket.  He purposely avoided looking in Willow’s direction.  
  
Willow’s shocked “Oz?”  rang through the store.  
  
Turning to look at her, he dead-panned, “Hey, Will.  Didn’t see you.”  
  
“Tara?  Oz?”  Confusion and pain and panic warred within her and each emotion was reflected on her face.  “Oz?”  
  
Ignoring her for a second, Oz touched Tara’s arm in a way that had Willow gaping further, but gave the blond a moment to recover.  “We got everything?”  
  
When she nodded then ducked her head to give him a silent thank you, only then did Oz shift his attention back to Willow.  
  
“Hey.  How’ve you been, Will?”  
  
She was gaping at them like a fish too long out of water.  _This was . . ._ Willow couldn’t even wrap her mind around this.  _Oz and Tara?  Oz.  And.  Tara.  Were talking like they were all . . . domestic._  
  
“We need to get milk and eggs.  Oh, and tortilla chips and salad stuff,”  Tara said while smiling at Oz.  
  
“Um.  Yeah.  Tara?  I?”  Willow couldn’t complete a thought, much less a sentence.  “How?”  
  
Smiling at each other and sharing a look that had Willow reeling off balance even further, Oz said, “Ran into Buffy.  She introduced us.  Been hanging ever since.”  
  
Deliberately keeping it vague, yet with enough innuendo to trigger further incoherency, Oz kept his expression neutral.  
  
Willow couldn’t breathe. . . _couldn’t_. . . she felt like she’d stepped into an alternate dimension, but couldn’t remember how or when.  This was so far beyond bizarre her brain couldn’t possibly process it.  This was just like her nightmare, when the First Slayer attacked them all in their sleep, and the two of them had been passing notes and whispering . . .   
  
_Oz and Tara.  Grocery shopping.  Together.  Maybe it was just . . . errands for Buffy.  Yeah.  That has to be it . . ._ and that line of reasoning was shattered by Tara’s next question.  
  
“Do you remember if we have enough soap in the bathroom?”  
  
 _What?  Laundry soap and bath. . . and milk?  Eggs?_ Willow couldn’t . . . _this just isn’t . . happening._  
  
Having gotten enough time to compose herself, Tara faced the other girl.  “Willow?  I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to have. . . to get together right now.  I’m just not ready.”  
  
“Please?  Just. . . _please_ , baby?  I miss you so much.”  Tears of confusion sprang to Willow’s eyes.  ‘Can we just, you know, talk for a bit?”  
  
Relenting a little, Tara said, “Maybe.  I’ll let you know. . . just not right now.”  
  
Oz touched her arm again, cocking his head toward the registers and by unspoken agreement, the two spoke at the same time, ‘We gotta go, Willow.”   “I’ll let you know. . . okay?”  
  
And before she could respond or really even recover, the two loves of Willow’s life were gone, leaving her in tears, without either of them sparing her a backwards glance.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She was watching him carefully, noting the bruises that dotted his arms and chest, the black eyes he was currently sporting, waiting patiently while he thought.  He was usually so animated, so alive it was sometimes hard to watch him being this still, when his chest didn’t rise and fall with unneeded breath.  Not tonight though, tonight she was grateful to have him in any shape.  Breathing or not.  Walking or not.  Buffy almost didn’t care.  As long as he wasn’t dusty, he would recover.   
  
He was watching her just as carefully, from underneath partially closed eyes, noting the changes marking her.  Her body had filled out some, she was no longer so painfully thin, her hair curling over her shoulder almost down to her waist.  The baby was sleeping against her shoulder, his tiny form snuggled against her, her strong arms cradling him gently.  She was unusually quiet right now, though there were times in the past when he’d seen her this still it was infrequent enough to remember.   Whatever she was thinking right now was no doubt serious, very serious.  
  
A soft sound escaped from the baby, breaking their contemplation of each other.  She’d asked him just moments ago one of the more serious questions of his life.  _Would I? Would I go out and kill everything in sight?_   Opening his eyes, resting them on her slim form, Spike had to admit if he did go on a rampage the burden would fall to her.  Buffy would be forced to not only slay him but she would be alone, probably for the rest of her short life.  _Do I miss the hunt?_ If he were being completely honest with himself the answer was, yes, at times he did.  Was what he and Buffy did every night, patrolling and being a white hat, was that enough to replace the hunt?  _Yeah_.  Reluctantly admitting it, Spike quickly re-evaluated his life.    
  
If they removed the chip, he’d have no restraints but himself.    
  
If they kept the chip, more instances like the one from last night were likely to occur.   
  
The chip kept him vulnerable, made them both vulnerable.  At this point it was far more of a hindrance than a help – because looking at the woman standing in the doorway, Spike was so completely certain of his feelings for her that he didn’t ever want anything to alter the life he had now, except for it to get better.  He wasn’t about to bollocks that up.  Not for the taste of fresh blood.  Besides, he had the best stuff in the world right here, why on earth would he go hunting for something that was of lesser quality?  He knew, too, with sudden clarity that if he were to lie to her, there would be an indefinable change in their relationship.  And they stood the chance of losing everything.    
  
“No.”  His voice was strong and steady and without any hesitation at all.  
  
Spike waited a beat, wondering if she were going to say something to make him clarify his ‘no’ but she remained silent, her eyes fixed on his.  “Why would I do that?  ‘M not some fledge that can’t control himself.  No need.”  
  
Buffy left her position by the door, walking toward the bed, her hand unconsciously stroking down the baby’s back, her eyes still not leaving his.    
  
There was a look in his eyes that she’d only seen once before – a look he’d had a very long time ago – and suddenly she remembered when it was.  
  
 _She’d followed him out the front door, watching as the coat flared behind him.  “Spike?  You promise to keep Giles safe?”  
  
The vampire had whirled around at the sound of his name, a nasty comment at the ready, but the look on her face had stopped him.  Instead of spouting something glib or nasty, he’d closed the distance between them, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek.  
  
A look entered his eyes, resolve, and a strange mixture of promise and tenderness, combined into a look of such fierce . . . Buffy couldn’t put a name to the emotions flickering in his eyes, though she knew on a gut level she could trust that look, would always be able to trust that look.  _  
  
It was that moment – standing on the porch, Angelus on the loose, _that_ moment and _that_ look that started it for Buffy – the trust she had in Spike.  
  
Sitting down on the bed facing him, Buffy realized that look was back.  It was the same look and she knew now what she hadn’t known then, what he might not even have known back then, that other indefinable emotion in his eyes?  All those years ago – it was love.  
  
He’d loved her then.  
  
Very deliberately, she laid the baby down on the bed, tucked up against Spike’s side, then she raised her eyes to his.  
  
Her voice was low, almost hushed when she spoke.  “How long?  When . . . how long have you loved me?”  
  
Drawing in a deep breath he searched her wide hazel green eyes.  By way of answer he moved his good hand from behind his head, reaching for her, tugging on the ends of her hair.  “From the first . . . moment I saw you.”  His voice was equally low, husky with promise.  ‘Didn’t know it . . .  But it was there. . .”  
  
She curled into his hand, kissing his palm.  A smile cracked his face and she whispered his name.  “When did you suspect?”  
  
“Probably that night, come to find you when Angelus was . . . when he had Rupert.  So fierce you were . . . yeah.  Then.”  Watching her nuzzle his had, Spike asked, “Why?”  
  
“Because that was the night I started trusting you.”  
  
“Ah.”  Smiling a bit, Spike said, “Big night that was.”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
They lapsed into silence, both of them lost in their thoughts.  Buffy laid her head down on Spike’s chest, his arm curling around her from the side.  
  
“Sweetheart?  You’re serious about this?”  
  
“As a heart attack.”  
  
“Right then.  How’re we gonna do this?”  His arm tightened around her and Buffy leaned down to kiss his chest.  
  
“Spike?”  She hesitated, then rushed into what she wanted to say, “Just promise me before you kill Xander you’ll wait.”  
                          
He chuckled a bit.  “All right.”


	13. Half a dozen reasonable hours.

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter 13.  Half a dozen reasonable hours.  
  
Clouds now and again  
give a soul some respite from  
moon-gazing – behold.  
    Matsuo Basho, untitled haiku  
  
Reason, the prized reality, the Law, is apprehended, now and then,  
for a serene and profound moment, amidst the hubbub of cares and     
Works which have no direct bearing on it;   
Miss then lost, for months or years, and again found,   
for an interval, to be lost again.    
If we compute it in time, we may, in fifty years,  
have half a dozen reasonable hours.  
    Ralph Waldo Emerson **_  
  
  
  
They were still unloading the supplies from the van when Xander and Anya pulled up to the curb.  Knowing they hadn’t told Anya the entire story – what had caused Angel to lose his soul or why Wesley had sought shelter in Sunnydale or why Spike and Buffy hadn’t been the ones to warn Anya – really, they hadn’t told her much of anything, they all braced for an epic outburst.  
  
“Hey, guys, what’s up?”  Xander got out of the car and walked to where the van was in the driveway.  
  
“Xander.”  Wesley stuck his hand out while shifting bags with the other.  
  
They shook hands and Xander reached out to help him.  “Need some help?”  
  
“If you wouldn’t mind?”  Gesturing toward the back of the van, Wesley continued, “There’s still more there.  You don’t mind, do you?”  
  
“Nope.  This is easy stuff.”  Moving as he spoke, Xander didn’t hesitate to grab the bags, not realizing what was in them.  
  
Anya had gone right into the house, trailing after the girls, for once lost in her own thoughts.  She really wasn’t sure what was going on with her and Xander.    
  
Dawn was emptying the grocery bags, putting everything away, while Tara sorted through the baby things, getting bottles and nipples boiling and gathering up the clothing so it could all be washed before they got him dressed.  
  
Oz was carrying the box containing the small crib up the stairs when Anya realized what the majority of the supplies were.  “What’s all this stuff for?”  
  
Both of the other girls froze, sharing a look.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Neither one of them had moved in the long minutes after his promise not to kill Xander, content to just be together.  Buffy was so grateful he was here with her that she finally had nothing more to say.  Everything she could say had been said.  
  
Spike was thinking much along the same lines; except he would be content to stay like this, here with her for the rest of their days.  Which would be a very long time from today.  He wasn’t going to . . . he was going to see to it that she lived a very long life and when she finally died of a very old ancient age, he was going to go with her.  They’d face that together.  And maybe, just maybe, he’d be granted a gift though he wasn’t going to bank on that.   Spike just wanted here and now.  After could take care of itself.  
  
His morbid train of thoughts was halted when there was a knock on the door.  “Company, love.”  
  
Grumbling slightly, Buffy got up and opened the door to find Oz standing there a huge box that was longer than it was wider in his hands.  “Whatcha got there?”  
  
“Baby crib.”  Trying to shrug, he ended up dropping one end, narrowly missing their feet.  “Not sure where to put it.”  
  
Sharing a look with Spike, Buffy motioned him in.  “Best place is probably here.”  
  
There wasn’t much room, but Buffy looked around, trying to find a good location for the crib.  Spike pointed a finger at the corner by the window.  “Put him there for now.”  
      
While they were working, Oz said, “We ran into Willow at the market.”  
  
As the other two shared a look, he continued, “Something’s not right.  Got a whiff of something . . .” he shrugged.  “Tara might know more.”  
  
“She saw you two together?”  Buffy stared at Oz while Spike waited for his answer.  
  
“Yeah.  She got all flustered.”  He reached for a slat, “Think she jumped to a weird conclusion.”  
  
Spike laughed, “Gave Red somethin’ to think about?”  
  
“Yeah.”  Turning his attention back to the crib, Oz didn’t catch the looks passing between the couple.    
  
Buffy was confused.  “But you’re just friends, right?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
She stared at him for a few more minutes, though Oz didn’t say anything else.   
  
By the time Xander and Wesley had finished unloading everything else from the van, between the Slayer and the werewolf, they had the crib set up and ready for the baby.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
It was long past midnight, however Rupert wasn’t ready to return to his hotel.  There was still so much to be done and his time here in London, must, as a necessity, be short. Too much going on back home in Sunnydale for him to comfortably stay here.  
  
 _Are we never going to get a break?  Just once,_ Rupert thought, _could we forego a weekly crisis?_ Seemed like it always happened like this.  Whenever there was a lull, it never meant a cessation, it was merely the hellmouth taking a time out.  
  
Maybe it was time to think about closing the hellmouth.  
  
Rupert shook off that thought, realizing it was not now the time, because the research on that alone would take far more time than he currently had.  _Right then, gaffer, back to the matter at hand._  
  
Vampire pregnancies – found; sidebar to demon-friendly neurosurgeons, found.  Housing and/or living expenses for the Slayer - he’d presented that proposal to Travers more than two days ago, the day after his arrival.  The senior staffers were discussing the matter, they’d have an answer for him by Tuesday.  Which was good, because he’d just made up his mind to depart for home on Wednesday.  With or without all the information he needed.  
  
So far the Council archives had yielded little information about the monks.  He was beginning to believe that omission wasn’t the result of ignorance or even a case of misplaced records.  Truth was, the journals were missing and quite possibly deliberately so.  The monks had already proven to him, through their own journals that they were more than adequate sorcerers and they had, up until very recently, controlled an inter-dimensional Key.  _Perhaps, in their spare time they’d figured out time travel._  
  
A very real rational part of him was able to dismiss that notion almost outright.  Problem was another equally rational part believed it was entirely possible.  Which presented its own set of problems.  
  
If, in fact, the monks could do so, then Giles had to wonder how much of their “history” was real and not constructed.  He also had no way of verifying whether or not they were even humans that originated in the dimension they currently inhabited.  Giles realized with a start all of this was pure conjecture on his part and, at the moment, counter-productive with regard to his search.  And it would be time wasted he needed to focus elsewhere.  
  
The monks were, at the moment, a lost cause.  However, quite possibly more information was contained in the monks’ journals.    
  
 _Right.  Wasn’t there something else?_   Giles fought the fatigue but was forced to concede to it when he found himself reading the same paragraph for a third time.  
  
 _Pack it in for the night, old man._ Gathering up his books and replacing them on the shelves, Giles made his way out into the waning hours of the London night.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The baby was asleep and Spike was drifting off after another dose of morphine and some other than Buffy blood.  They were both on the bed, the baby on his belly and Spike flat on his back. _They are_ , she thought watching them settle in, _adorable_.  Spike’s chest was rising and falling needlessly.  She wondered if maybe he did this because he was still in pain and unable to hide it in sleep.  
  
Brushing a kiss across his forehead, then doing it again for good measure, Buffy smiled.  It was getting harder and harder to fight her feelings.  And really, why should she be putting so much energy into fighting the feelings?  Wasn’t like there was something to hide – and if she were being truthful about this, she was pretty much in love with him anyway, so why couldn’t she tell him that?  Well, that wasn’t entirely true either.  Because earlier, when they were talking – she had told him how she was feeling.  She just hadn’t said those three words.  Maybe she could just – build up to them.  Practice saying them.  Sort of like memorizing something for school. . . like MacBeth’s speech. . . or a poem for English.  _Yeah_.  That’s what she’d do.  Leaning over him one more time, Buffy brushed a third kiss on his forehead, whispering very softly, “I love you, Spike.”    
  
Reluctantly heading for the door, Buffy never saw the slight smile cross Spike’s face, nor the hitch in his breathing as she left the bedroom.    
  
On her way to the stairs, Buffy was hoping there was something ready to eat.  She was tired and hungry and really not looking forward to all the questions and problems.  
  
Stopping at the landing, Buffy very nearly went back up into the bedroom.  That room was . . . sanctuary.  Safe.    
  
Numerous voices sounded from the kitchen and she could hear Dawn and Tara talking, Wesley’s voice and Xander.  _When did Xander get here?  Is Anya with him?_   Hesitating once more, Buffy stood indecisively on the stairs, half turned back to the bedroom.  She was poised to do just that when Xander’s voice caught her attention.    
  
“Hey, Buffster, how are ya?” Xander looked up at her from the bottom of the stairs.  
  
Blowing out a breath, Buffy said hello, then headed down toward him.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Humans were ridiculously easy to kill.  He’d forgotten that fact and also the fact they were, as a whole, pretty trusting, which just made things all the easier for him.  It was full dark now and he’d already drained two.  Nothing compared to the taste of human blood right from the source.  Fresh blood zinging through his veins, Angel stalked through the streets of Los Angeles, heading straight for the Hyperion, for some insane reason.  He really didn’t know why he was heading this way.  There was probably nothing there for him.  
  
Wesley wasn’t stupid, neither was Cordelia and it was more than likely they’d gone undergound and were now hiding.  Even so, he needed a few things from there – clean clothes and . . . _son of a bitch._   Wesley had his car.    
  
He need to get himself some wheels.  Jumping from building to building was fun, b _ut really, it wasn’t like this was London or Paris where in the older sections the buildings were closer together, no, this was LA, where the buildings were artfully designed with space in between them and, truly_ , he needed a set of wheels.   Watching the street, Angelus started picking out the kind of car he wanted.  Something flashy . . . something. . . a _nd hey, this is Los Angeles . . flashy is de rigeur . . ._  
  
Spying a Viper stopped at a light, Angelus smiled.  _Yeah.  A Viper would do._   Sprinting toward it, Angel smiled again.  It wasn’t pretty.    
  
Killing was simple.    
  
Killing was easy.    
  
And he was really going to enjoy destroying everyone’s lives – stripping away everything dear to them first.  Filling his mind with how and who and when, Angel pressed the accelerator of his newly acquired ride.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Figuring everyone was hungry and knowing it was going to be an early night, Tara hastily got pasta and sauce going after starting a load of baby laundry.  Bottles and nipples were sterilizing away on the back burner and Dawn was chopping vegetables while Anya roved about.  She and Dawn had asked Anya to wait until Wesley and Buffy were in the kitchen before they told her and Xander everything.  
  
Once the supplies had all been unloaded, Wesley had headed right for the shower, since he was now working on three days in the same clothing and he really needed to be clean.  
  
She heard Xander call up to Buffy, while Oz was coming in the back door.  “Everything’s secure.”  
  
Anya’s ears perked up and she knew something very serious was going on – perhaps even more serious than just Angelus being on the loose.  
  
Xander preceded Buffy into the kitchen and it was fairly obvious the Slayer wasn’t happy.  Whether it was the situation or just the fact she would rather be hovering over Spike, Tara had no idea.  Though she kind of guessed that if it were her lover upstairs near death, she’d want to be close, damn all other responsibilities.  
  
“He sleeping?”  Tara looked up from making sauce to catch Buffy’s eye.  
  
“Yeah.  He’s exhausted.”    
  
“Buffy?”  Dawn stopped what she was doing to watch her sister.  When the older Summers girl looked up, Dawn asked, “How is he?”  
  
Her smile was genuine, yet still very tired, “Much better.  He says the headache is gone and he’s talking, so his jaw is much better.  Says the ribs are healed and that he’s all itchy.”  
  
Shrugging a bit, she snagged some of the vegetables that were on the counter, “I’m so hungry.”  
  
The other two girls shared a look when Xander snarked, “What happened to the bleached wonder?”  
  
Again it was Tara who answered, though about halfway into the story, Buffy started speaking.  “He saved Dawnie from the Knights of Byzantium last night.  He . . .” she paused, trying to swallow her tears, “He took. . . he got badly beaten for Dawnie.  Again.”  
  
‘What?  I thought the knights went buh-bye when the portal got closed and we beat Glory?  How come they’re back?”   
  
“We’re not sure, Xander.  Don’t really know why we thought Dawn’s danger stopped with Glory.  Just because that skanky hellbitch is gone doesn’t mean someone else won’t try to open up another doorway using Dawn.”  The fatigue was evident in Buffy’s voice.  
  
Dawn’s hand was clenching and unclenching around the knife, a muscle in her cheek jumping.  If anyone were to look closely at her, the resemblance to her real father was remarkable – but no one noticed.  
  
Anya caught her hand, releasing the knife.  “Let me, Dawn.”  
  
“This isn’t good, Buffy.  What does Giles say about all this?”  Xander leaned back against the refrigerator, his arms crossed.  
  
Before anyone could answer Xander’s question, Anya’s voice filled the silence.  “What about Angelus?  Wesley didn’t tell me anything.  And how did Giles know all about this?”  
  
Wesley’s footsteps sounded on the stairs and the now familiar sounds of a wailing infant accompanied him.  Fumbling apologetically, Wesley said, “Spike’s awake again.”  
  
Anya gaped at the infant in Wesley’s arms while Xander exclaimed, “Whoa!  What the hell is that?”  
  
Throwing an exasperated look at Xander, Buffy reached for the baby, rescuing Wesley.  “ _That_ is just what it looks like, Xander.  It’s a baby.”  
  
“Sounds like gas.  Try rubbing his back.”  Tara glanced over at Buffy, noting she’d already thought of that.  Sniffing a bit, Buffy said, “He needs a change of clothes too.”  
  
Grabbing the diapers and wipes, she headed for the living room.  
  
“Who’s baby is that?”  Anya’s voice was quiet yet strangely wavering.  
  
Buffy’s voice wafted in from the other room, “Your turn, Wes.”  
  
“Yes.  Well.  It’s . . um.”  Wes hesitated, clearly at a loss.  “Connor is well, he’s the child of Darla and Angel.”  
  
Buffy’s muted, “So he does have a name,” was completely over looked because of the clamoring in the kitchen.  
  
“What!”  Xander’s outburst rang through the house.  “That’s not possible.  Vampire’s can’t . . . and wait!  Darla was dusted years ago.”  
  
“She was mystically resurrected by Wolfram & Hart, who represent many of, well, they are lawyers and,” Wesley was trying to explain when Anya interrupted him.  
  
“They represent demon clients and very unscrupulous humans.  Wolfram & Hart are a force to be reckoned with and they have offices all over this world and quite a few in other dimensions as well.”  
  
“Impressive people.”  Oz had been quiet up until then.  
  
“You have no idea.  Their resources are endless.  And their influence is immeasurable.”  Wesley had gained his equilibrium continuing, “How they managed to resurrect Darla, I’m not entirely certain, however, the means appear to be quite different from Buffy’s case.”  
  
“You’re sure of that?”  Buffy came back into the kitchen, handed the baby off to Wesley, threw out the diaper and headed for the sink to wash her hands.    
  
“Reasonably.  I know they used something called the Urn of Osiris, although beyond that I’ve not been completely able to discern.”  
  
Standing by the sink, the water still running, Buffy turned to look at Wesley.  “You mean to tell me there’s more than one way to resurrect someone?”  
  
His answer was stark and chilling.  “Yes.”  
  
Turning back to the water, Buffy muttered something under her breath that no one heard fully.  
  
“That still doesn’t explain the baby.”  Xander’s brain was reeling.  This was all so. . . so far beyond what he’d come to expect as normal he didn’t know what to say.  
  
“Angel and Darla had relations.  More than once.”  Looking down at the baby in his arms, Wesley continued, “Darla left Los Angeles for a while and when she returned she was heavily pregnant.  Connor was born last night.  Darla . . . I believe Darla was deeply affected by the baby’s soul.  She didn’t want to – she didn’t want to forget that she loved him.  She staked herself so she wouldn’t harm him after his birth.”  
  
Buffy hadn’t known this and found herself strangely moved by Darla’s decision.  
  
“That must have been hard.”  Tara’s soft tones broke the silence and at Wesley’s nod she took the baby from him.    
  
“So Darla sacrificed herself for the baby.”  
  
“She did.”  
  
“But how did Angel do that?  I thought vampire’s couldn’t have babies.”  Dawn’s tone was curious.  
  
Wesley and Buffy shared a look each uncertain, though for entirely different reasons, about sharing Angel’s theory.  However, it was Anya’s next words took the option of keeping silent from them.  
  
“Because they can have babies.  It takes a certain set of circumstances, mystical return from death and an intense relationship between the recently undead woman and a male vampire and then the stork comes.”  Anya looked around at everyone, smiling brightly, “I knew this girl once who fell in love with a vampire.  She was killed and he forced some witch to bring her back and the next thing you knew – she was pregnant.”  
  
All eyes shifted from Connor to Buffy, who held up her hands.  “No . . . um . . . nope.”  
  
 _Not that I don’t want to be. . .I’m just not.  Yet.  Maybe._  
  
Dawn sighed a little but kept silent, because what she wanted to do was yell hooray because if that meant Buffy could get pregnant – that meant she might someday have real-honest-to-god siblings.  
  
Xander, on the other hand, was freaking out.  ‘This is not good.  We don’t know what this kid will be like – he could be a bloodsucker, he could be an evil little demon.  So not good.”  
  
“We don’t know enough, Xander, none of us can tell yet what these babies are going to be like.”  No one but Tara caught Buffy’s slip of the tongue, though the witch didn’t point it out.  
  
“Spike says it doesn’t matter where you come from, only what you do with the present and future that matter.”  Dawn piped in with her comment.  
  
“Right.  He would say that because he doesn’t want anyone looking too closely at his past.”  
  
“Really?  Sounds like a positive outlook to me, makes sense actually.”  Wesley was shaking his head in agreement.    
  
“Spike’s not the only one who has to worry about a past.  I was a vengeance demon for over a thousand years, Xander.  There’s lots of stuff I did.”  
  
“That’s different, Ahn.  You have a soul now.  You’re human.”  Xander shrugged off her past.  
  
With an apologetic smile at Anya, Tara said, “So it’s okay because she’s human now, but it’s not okay for Spike because he’s still a vampire?”  She paused for a moment, waiting to see if Xander would try and defend his narrow-minded ideas. “ Even with all the good things he’s been doing – none of that matters?”  
  
“He doesn’t have a soul.  He’s not going to keep this up.  All he has is a chip that keeps him from killing everyone.”  
  
“So Spike couldn’t go out and get minions to do all his dirty work?  Couldn’t set up situations where all of us die?”  Buffy was getting more and more angry with his attitude.  
  
“Well, I guess he could do those things.”  Xander didn’t want to concede the point.  
  
“Ah huh.  So?”  Any further comment Buffy might have made was forestalled by the sound of the doorbell.  
  
It had them all confused until Buffy moved toward the door first.  She wasn’t really prepared for the sight before her.  Her face broke out in a smile and a giggle slipped past her lips.  The, “C’mon in,” she half-laughed while trying to get out a “Dawn” was impossible.  
  
Still laughing, she motioned the figure to follow her.  
  
“Dawn?”  
  
The teenager picked up her head and gasped out a surprised, “Casey?”  
  
She wasn’t sure it was him, because all she could see was a hand and a pair of legs.  His voice sounded from behind the fistful of balloons.  “Hey, Dawn.”  
  
“Casey?”  Dawn got up from her chair and circled round the balloons.  
  
What had Buffy laughing so hard was the assortment.  They were mostly mylars – and there were ‘over-the-hills’, ‘get-well-soons’, ‘happy-birthdays’ and ‘congratulations it’s a girl’ and Buffy pointed at them, nudging Tara.  
  
The two girls were smiling and Tara whispered, “Why don’t you take a couple up to Spike.  Dinner won’t be ready for a bit.”  
  
Dawn must’ve had the same thought, because she took the balloons from Casey, explaining to him that Spike had gotten hurt and he was upstairs in bed.  Handing off the balloons to her sister, Dawn steered Casey out into the backyard where there weren’t so many prying eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Montaigne; or, the Skeptic”.


	14. True colors

_**Book Two.  
  
Chapter 14.  True colors  
  
Though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man,  
it must not be denied but I am a plain-dealing villain.  
    Much Ado About Nothing, act I, sc. iii  
  
the pulse of the hero beats in unison with the pulse of  
nature, and he steps to the measure of the universe;  
then there is true courage and invincible strength.  
    Henry David Thoreau, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers**_  
  
  
He decided he was going to keep a running body count.  This way he’d know it was a good day by the number of drained humans he left behind.  Today was shaping up as a good one – so what if it was technically night.  
  
Three dead in Los Angeles.  Two dead on the highway.  And who knew how many more after he got to Sunnydale.  
  
This was fun.  The kind of fun he hadn’t had in years.  Not even the last time – well Drusilla had been . . . he closed his eyes for a moment, sending a call through the bond.  She might recognize it.  Hell, she might even come . . . and wouldn’t that be another kick.  If she did – if Drusilla did come, he’d be assured of some very fine cock sucking.  Not that Drusilla wasn’t a good lay, but her true talents were elsewhere.  The best benefit of not having to breathe – hours upon hours of oral sex.  And Drusilla was the best – well, the second best cocksucker he’d ever had the pleasure of being with.    
  
So if Drusilla responded to his Sire’s call, good.  Even if she didn’t that was also good.  Either way – because once he’d taken care of everything in Sunnydale, he would have all the time in the world to find her.  
  
Teach her not to disobey a Sire’s call.  Discipline Daddy’s little girl.  
  
His sneer turned into an outright smug leer.  
  
 _Oh yeah._  
  
He was looking forward to some discipline.  Maybe he’d keep Buffy alive while he disciplined Spike – remind  him of some things he’d apparently forgotten.  
  
Flipping the radio stations, Angelus finally found one he liked, singing very badly and not caring, he drove on toward Sunnydale.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Leaving everyone in the kitchen, Dawn dragged Casey out onto the back porch, without a word or sparing anyone else a glance.  
  
Plopping down on the top step, Dawn tucked her long legs under and looked up at Casey.  Sitting down next to her, he stole a glance from the corner of his eye.  “You okay?”  
  
“Yeah.”  The tone of her voice made that statement the lie that it was.  
  
“I was worried, you know.  Called you earlier and no one answered,” he shrugged a bit, playing with the frayed knee of his jeans.  
  
“We had to go out for a little while.  Had to get stuff.”  Thinking quickly, she said, “Wesley’s place was destroyed in a fire last night and his, well, everything is gone.”  
  
“That sucks.”  Casey leaned back, resting his weight on his elbows.  “How’s Spike?”  
  
He’d thought it was a simple question, though instead of answering, Dawn just started quietly crying all over again.  ‘Dawn?  I’m sorry.  What happened?  Hey, c’mon.  He’s okay, right?”  
  
Dawn couldn’t answer him.  She was trying so hard not to cry that the tears just kept falling.  
  
“Dawn?  Is he gonna be okay?”  Casey was really concerned now, so he sat up and touched her back.  
  
She crumpled, resting her head against him, her hands fisted awkwardly against his stomach.  “He’s my . . . like my father, you know, my big brother and he’s like . . . he’s . .  . He’s the strongest person I’ve ever known and the stupidest and he could’ve gotten killed last night and he was trying to protect me and . . he’s a jerk, you know?”  Taking a hiccupping breath, she went on, “He’s Spike, you know, he’d do anything to keep me safe and those wank – wankers that hurt him should die and they should all just freaking _die_.”  
  
Casey put his arm around her shoulder, just holding her, listening to her until she finally couldn’t talk any more.   
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
He wasn’t really awake, more like drifting in a haze, especially since Wesley had come in and taken the sprog.  At least he thought it was Oxford.  Could’ve been his brother Gordon. . . _no, Gordie died when he was eight, wasn’t him. . .   Wasn’t Ripper. . ._ Spike knew his brain was fried.  _Morphine was great. . . . bloody great good stuff for pain.   Itchy no more._   Some stupid tune was running through his brain and he couldn’t remember the damn words.  _Where’s Buffy?_   Didn’t like letting her out of his sight, not since she’d come back. . . his girl wasn’t gonna get hurt again, not ever.  _Sunshine she was_ , light in his dark . . _given m’everythin’.  Love her.  Can’t get that damn song outta m’head.  Bloody tune._  
  
Humming only slightly off key, Spike thought he was dreaming when he heard her voice calling his name.  “Buffy . . .  my Buffy,” he chuckled, imagining she was kneeling on the bed, her hands smoothing the sheet and pulling up the . . . _hey_.  “Buffy?  Not dreamin’ am I?”  
  
She giggled a bit.  His ramblings were actually cute and she wondered if she should tell him that he’d said all of that out loud, including the bit about his brother. “No, Spike, you aren’t dreaming, but it’s a good thing for you all those thoughts were about me.”  
  
“Love you, kitten.”  His words were drawled, each one drawn and husky, sending shivers down her spine.  “F’r’ever.  Always.  ‘Til we’re ol’ and gray.”  
  
Despite his almost drunken state, Buffy knew he hadn’t meant that to be cruel.  “We aren’t gonna get old.  You won’t age and I’ve got an early expiration date.”  
  
“Nope.  Not gonna let you go alone.  You go, I go.  Pair.  Mates.  F’rever.”  He pulled her close, his arm lacking its usual strength.  “Love you, kitten.  Gonna grow old. . . figger it out.  Love you.”  
  
She found herself listening more to the sound of his voice than his words, though somewhere in the back of her mind, Buffy heard them.  And as crazy as it sounded, she believed him.  He’d come up with some crazy, insane, hair-brained idea and somehow he’d make it work.   Her head was against his chest, her face in the hollow of his throat, his arm clamped around her body.  She kissed his skin and Spike felt the ripples warming hm.    
  
That damn tune was back in his head and he couldn’t help humming it.   
  
 “Spike?  Do you realize you are humming Patsy Cline?”  He could feel Buffy’s smile against his skin and he didn’t care what caused it.  
  
“‘S a good song.”  He didn’t care, it was just the damn thing was in his head and he couldn’t shake it.  “Heard her sing it once, jus’ b’fore she died.  Nice voice.”    
  
They lapsed into silence, the only sounds drifting up from downstairs and the muted voices from everyone in the house.  Everything was hushed, the October breeze ruffling the curtains on the open windows and the moonlight just starting to spill in through the glass.  Her arm curled up around his shoulder, the other one resting against his injured right arm, her hand worming its way underneath his shoulder almost of its own volition.  Spike’s good hand began running up and down her back, his fingers sometimes getting caught in loose tangles of her hair.    
  
There hadn’t been many moments like this in her life, where she was just content to sit still and be – there had always been something else to cause a distraction, some other thing needing her immediate attention.  Even with Riley, she hadn’t been able to really relax, to trust in what they had enough to just let go.  Come to think of it, had she ever really trusted Riley?  Not the same way she trusted Spike.  Because despite all the good things, Riley had done some really, really bad and hurtful things to her – in fact, their whole relationship had started out with lies, on both their parts, although she wasn’t supposed to tell people about being the Slayer.  The cheating on her didn’t help Riley’s cause either.  Sleeping with Faith while they’d been body swapped – that was so not good that, even now, almost two years later, it still hurt.  The vamp whores?  _No . . that was not good either._ That was so far from good it was in another country.  And the bit with him blaming _her_ for going to the whores?  She wasn’t quite sure how that worked, because in her mind, it had still been cheating.  You don’t cheat on your partner, you either split or you work things out.  
  
Spike was humming again.  She wasn’t sure this time what the song was, because she didn’t recognize the melody at all, though apparently it was one he remembered.  His chest was rising and falling again in time with her own breathing.  She wondered if he knew he did that or if it was just his body’s unconscious way of adjusting to the closest person.  She kind of liked the idea of him breathing in time with her, no matter who else was in the room, made them more . . . joined.  Or something like that.    
  
Somehow the universe was playing a huge joke on her because the truly evil vampire, the one without a soul, the self-professed Big Bad,  was the only guy she’d ever been _around_ who hadn’t lied to her.  Not once.  Not ever.  Even Giles had lied to her.  And Xander’s lies?  She could write at least a chapter on Xander’s lies - starting with the little forgotten moment when he’d tried to rape her, and then lied about not remembering it.    
  
The man lying in bed with her had not ever lied to her.  He’d been threatening, angry, violent, but never ever had he lied to her about anything.  Not his intentions, his plans or his feelings.  He valued honesty, which was just even more ironic, because demons weren’t big on truthfulness.  Most of them anyway.  
  
His eyes were closed and he was just lying there, enjoying the peace and quiet.  There was no one that mattered except the two of them and he didn’t care what else was about to happen.  What was coming for . . . he felt it. . . that unconscious instinctive call, the one sent out through the blood line.  _Fuck.  Angelus._ He hadn’t forgotten, though in light of his own situation, he’d pushed the issue of Angelus aside.  _Bloody bastard is comin’ here._    He didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to disturb the peace. . . “Kitten?  He’s headin’ this way.  Comin’ for us.”  
  
A heavy breath blew across his neck, warming him yet chilling him at the same time.  “Sort of knew that.  Figured he’d take out his people first.”  
  
“No, sweetheart.  He’s on his way now.  Need to get Oxford and Glinda up here.  Need to talk about this.”  Spike drifted for a long moment, long enough for her to think he’d fallen asleep, so when his voice sounded again it startled her, “Should get the bot out patrolin’.  Maybe the whelp can go w’it.”  
  
Buffy laid there for a few more minutes to see if he was going to say anything else and when he stayed silent, she asked very quietly, very strongly, “How much would you have to take to be up and around?”  
  
He knew damn well what she meant and he didn’t want to get into this now.  _Not tonight.  Not again_.  He should have known this wasn’t settled.  “Too much.  Don’ ask me again.”  
  
 _Oh, he’s angry._   She could feel it.  His entire body had tensed up and she could see his jaw clenching and unclenching as he held his temper in check.  Getting up from her spot, Buffy placed her hands on either side of his head, staring down at his face, noting the softness of his gaze as he looked up at her.  “Spike.   I . . don’t want anyone else with me for this.  You and I can do this together, he’s not strong enough to take both of us . . . and he’s alone, right?  No one’s with him, right?”  
  
“Near as I can tell.  He,” Spike hesitated a bit, reluctant to admit to her that he could feel this, “used the Sire bond callin’ to Dru, but he’s one of the oldest of the line, so we all feel it.”  
  
Another deep breath blew against him   “Right then.  So he’s alone.”  Thinking a minute or two, she tried to remember everything about Angelus.  “He won’t come for us right away – he’ll try to pick us off one by one, right?”  
  
“Yeah.  No one goes out near dark alone.  No one.”  Thinking hard, Spike said, “Rather you keep Niblet home, not let her out a’all.”  
  
“Good idea.”  Then in a rush, “How. . . if you drink again tonight and again all day tomorrow – how soon will you be up?”  
  
“Will you not let this go?”  _God, she could be a stubborn bitch._  
  
“No.  I’m not going to until you give me a better answer.”  She got that look in her eye he hated, that Slayer bitch on wheels look, the one that made him want to slug her.  
  
Closing his eyes and praying for patience, Spike ground out, “Three more good feedings, or so.  Not much more than that, all right?  Happy now?”  
  
Her left hand cupped his cheek.  “Look at me, Spike, please?”  Her thumb brushed over his lips, tracing the lines, her eyes searching his face.  “Spike . . . Slayer here, remember?  I’ll be fine.  I need you to be fine also.”  
  
“Buffy.  We have time to wait.  He won’t come except to taunt us, at least not right away.  We’ve got time for me to rest a bit.”  Thinking a second, he said, “M’promise, kitten, he wants us scared enough to make mistakes.  ‘M not making any.”  
  
His good hand brushed away a tear and he pulled her down to his lips.  “Love you.  Now go get Oxford and Glinda.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Anya had Connor now, his head resting on her shoulder, while Tara made the final preparations for dinner.  Wesley was questioning Xander on what he remembered of Angelus last time, while Oz listened, sometimes adding his own comments.  
  
Deciding not to wait for Buffy to come downstairs, Tara set out plates and transferred full bowls to the counter.  Sticking her head out the door, she realized Dawn was crying and Casey was a bit overwhelmed.    
  
“Dawnie?”  
  
“Hey,” The younger girl wiped her eyes and pulled herself away from Casey.  “Sorry.  Guess I’m tired and . . . sorry, Case.”  
  
Smiling at her shyly, he said, “I’d be a really crappy boyfriend if I complained.  Don’t worry about it.”  
  
Dawn ducked her head, a blush spreading across her face.  
  
Tara found herself smiling at the two of them.  “Dinner’s ready.  You’re welcome to stay, Casey.”  
  
“Thanks.  That’s cool.”  
  
Giving them a few minutes, she slipped back inside to find everyone eating, including Buffy, who was trying to talk and eat at the same time.  “No one goes out alone, unless it’s broad daylight.  If it’s close, we travel in pairs.   We need to come up with some kind of survival . . . self-defense thingie so that if he does get one of us, we can get away.”   
  
“You mean like crosses and holy water?”    
  
“Yes, Anya, that’s exactly what I mean.”  
  
“Emergency kits.  And we all have cellphones, right?”  Buffy was gesturing with her fork, trying to eat as fast as possible.  
  
“I want one of these.  This is wonderful.”  Anya looked at Xander.  “Can we have one please?”  
  
“One what?”  Xander was suddenly very afraid of what she was going to ask for.  
  
“A baby.  I want babies, Xander.  Can we have one now?”  
  
A very pained look crossed his features, something of a cross between a grimace and embarrassment.  “Can we not talk about this?”  He threw a quick look around the room, but no one was actually willing to meet his eyes.  
  
“Why?  Why can’t we talk about this?”  Anya was at a loss.  _What was wrong about talking about having babies?_    
  
“The timing isn’t right, Ahn.  Maybe we could talk about this later, after we get home, okay?”  He was desperately trying to change the subject, anything to get away from this topic.    
  
“Fine, Xander Harris, you always want to talk about things later.  What about when I want to talk about things?  Does it matter to you that I want to talk about this now?  Or that I want to talk about this in front of _Buffy_?”  Anya bristled when he tried shushing her, moving away from his gesturing hands.    
  
Xander took hold of her arm and Anya pulled away from him, misjudging the strength of his grip and she teetered off-balance, trying not to lose the baby or fall at the same time, and she was in real danger of falling hard when Wesley reached out a hand, bracing her against him.    
  
“Xander!?  What are you doing?”  Everyone stared at him, while Anya got her bearings back, trying to comfort the scared and crying baby.  “What is wrong with you?  Can’t you see I had the baby?”  
  
Anya moved away from Wesley, thanked him for helping her, then purposely turned her back on Xander and went into the living room to sit down.  Her legs were shaking badly and she couldn’t get a deep breath.  What just happened had scared her, badly.   She needed to do some thinking.  
  
The other four adults shared a look over Xander’s bowed head, none of them willing to comment too closely on what had just happened.    
  
“I didn’t mean to grab at her.”  His low voiced comment elicited no response, because not a one of them could really believe what they’d just witnessed.  It had looked, from almost every view, like Xander was going to shake Anya, whether she had the baby in her arms or not.  And that was not good.  
  
There was a long painful silence in the kitchen, when finally Buffy said, “Tara?  Wes?  Spike wants to talk to you both.  When you’re done eating maybe you should come upstairs.”  
  
Dumping what was left on her plate into the garbage, Buffy left the kitchen to go back up to her bedroom, more than Angelus on her mind now.  
  
  
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _She never shuts up.  Always talking about things at the worse possible times.  Why does she always have to bring up our relationship when everyone’s around?_   Xander stared at his hands as they flexed against the counter.  Sometimes he wished she’d just keep her mouth shut.  _Why the hell does she want to have a baby for?_   He was only twenty-one, he wasn’t ready for any of this – a girlfriend, yeah – full time sex, yeah – fiancee, he wasn’t so sure, so, well, he’d already asked her, but that didn’t mean they had to get married right away.  They could have a long engagement, really long.  But babies?  _Nah huh._  
  
 _And why the hell was she cuddling that demon brat anyway?_ Kid shouldn’t even been possible, and now Buffy could – the same thing could happen to her.  _How disgusting is that?  And why would she want to?_ Xander figured that was probably the worst thing she could do.  
  
Buffy wasn’t like that.  All this Spike stuff, he couldn’t – refused to think of it as love – had to be the result of some side effect of the spell Willow had done to bring her back.  Couldn’t be because she actually liked him or anything.  _So when the after effects wear off, she’ll toss Spike out on his ass and the worthless blood-sucking bastard will leave.  And that’s good._  
  
Firmly convinced once more that all this was going to end soon, Xander apologized to the other two adults.  None of them, not even Xander himself, was really sure what he was apologizing for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from Cindy Lauper’s tune.


	15. A hard day’s night.

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter 15.  A hard day’s night.  
  
  
O that a man might know  
the end of this day’s business ere it comes!  
    Julius Caesar, act v, sc. i  
  
This day I breathed first – time is come round,  
and where I did begin, there shall I end.  
My life is run his compass  
    Julius Caesar, act v, sc. iii**_  
  
  
  
Spike was sitting up in bed, his injured right arm propped up on a pillow, Buffy on the bed next to him, their heads close together, voices low and muted.  She’d left the door open partially, though Wesley knocked anyway, pushing it open further when Buffy responded, then stepped aside to allow Tara entry.  
  
“Oxford.”  Spike looked up at his fellow Englishman, noting the bloodshot eyes and fatigue.  “Glinda.  Where’s the wolf?”  
  
“Went home to get some sleep,” was Tara’s soft spoken answer.  
  
“How are you feeling?”  Wesley took catalog of the visible injuries.  This did not bode well.  Although it was encouraging that he was up and talking.  
  
“Been better.”  Tara came round to the far side of the bed, looking closely at his swollen face.  Smiling at Buffy, she glanced at Spike, asking, “May I?”  
  
Cocking his head to the side, the vampire looked at the witch, “Gonna work some good mojo?”  
  
Shaking her head yes, Tara motioned for him to lean forward into her hands.  Muttering a soft incantation, Tara’s hands warmed considerably, the heat passing into Spike’s skin.  The bruises around his eyes faded to yellow and those on his chest lightened considerably.  Taking a step back, she smiled again.  “I’ll do it again in the morning.”  
  
Spike smiled in response, gratitude evident despite the pain.  
  
Motioning her to the chair, Wesley leaned against the crib, remarking, “You sure this is the best place for the baby?  You need your rest.”  
  
“Should be up an’ around this time tomorrow.  Won’t be completely healed, but I’ll be on m’feet.”  The blond pair on the bed studiously avoided looking at each other and both were surprised by Wesley’s next words.  “So I can assume Buffy’s blood is helping greatly then?”  
  
Two pairs of glittering eyes stared at him, though Wesley was already gesturing at them, “Relax.  I meant no censure.  It was merely a statement of facts.  You had to have some thing more potent than regular human blood.  Given your relationship to find otherwise would have been more of a surprise.”  
  
Spike’s low growl sounded in the room, prompting Wesley to once more apologize.  “I’m very sorry.  Watcher training is sometimes hard to overcome.”  
  
Laying a hand on Spike’s arm, Buffy said, “It’s still kind of private for us.  Not everyone would be so practical or so non-judgy.”  
  
That was a nice way of saying most of her friends wouldn’t approve if they knew.  
  
“Right, then.  I’m sure this isn’t why you wanted us up here.  My guess is Angelus?”  
  
“Yeah.  Last time he got all stalker-guy.  Got into my room.  Left creepy hand-drawn pictures of me sleeping and lots of other stuff – dead flowers – he killed Willow’s fish . . .”  Buffy ran through the list of his actions in her head, “Things kept getting scarier and scarier and he tried to kidnap Mom.  Then he killed Jenny and well, this part wasn’t real but we all remember it that way – he took Dawn, though Spike brought her back, before he could get to her.”  
  
“He was busy tendin’ to Rupert.  Was savin’ the bit for after.”  Spike waited for a minute, “Point is, he’s not comin’ the way I would – he’s gonna try an’ pick us off one at a time.”  
  
Wesley interrupted, “Any idea which of us might be first on his list?”  
  
Reaching over to clasp Buffy’s hand, Spike thought for a moment.  “No way of knowin’. What’s more important, we need to decide about restorin’ the soul.”  He knew he didn’t care one way or the other, save that dusting Angelus left him as the head of their branch of the Aurelius line, Spike knew it mattered to Buffy and possibly Angel’s crew.  
  
Picking at some imaginary lint on her jeans, Tara added, “I don’t have the spell, Willow does.  I could ask her but I’m not sure she’d give it to me.  We might have to find it ourselves.”  
  
“It’s too early to call Giles, to see if he can get anything out of the library that might be helpful.”  Wesley double checked his watch, mentally calculating the time difference.  “He should be up in a couple of hours, I’ll call him before I retire for the night.”  
  
“What about minions?”  Buffy asked, but Spike was shaking his head.    
  
“Doubt it.  He did it last time an’ all he got was trouble from them.  He’s too long away from runnin’ a nest for it.  It’d be easier to do what he’s already done.”  
  
“What’s that?”  Wesley had his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets, trying hard to keep his eyes open.  He was suddenly exhausted.  
  
Spike sighed, reluctance a clear emotion.  “Used the Sire’s bond, an’ seein’ how he’s the head of the blood line, we all felt it.”  
  
That woke him up.  “So you’re telling us that Sunnydale is about to be over-run with Aurelian vampires?  And you aren’t fit to fight?”  
  
“Easy, Oxford.  Nearest Aurelian is me, an’ I’m not answerin’ any call Peaches sends out.  Now or ever.  ‘Side from me, Dru was in Brazil, Penn’s dead and there’s a few others, but it’ll take time before anyone gets here.  Don’t imagine that we’re gonna have to worry ‘bout the others before, well, at least a week.”  
  
Tara gripped the chair arms.  “So we have a little more than a week before Angel starts – what about the Huntsman?”  
  
Blowing out a breath, Buffy said, “With any kind of luck, he’ll get what he’s here for and leave.”  
  
Wesley shared a look with Spike.  “That’s one of the things Rupert’s gong to London for, to find information about the Huntsman.  Hopefully his research will support my theory.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“That the Huntsman won’t leave until the traitor is judged.”  
  
“The traitor?”  An unbidden image of Willow flashed in Buffy’s brain and unknowingly it also surfaced in other’s heads.  
  
“Once the traitor begins to . . . the process of betrayal, the Huntsman usually appears, and when the final act of betrayal is complete, traditionally that’s when the Huntsman strikes.  The hounds retrieve the traitor, and they go before Gwyn ap Nudd for judgment.  
  
“So your theory is that the Huntsman is here to actually do some good?  What about all those dead girls?”  Buffy’s voice held a bit of disbelief.  
  
“That, I believe, was in response, in payment for releasing you from heaven.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Cordelia was more than halfway to San Francisco when she abruptly changed her mind about her destination.   Checking her rearview mirror, she made a quick u-turn and headed back toward Los Angeles.  If she was going to hide out and be inconspicuous, she was going to do it in a spot with better weather than northern California.  _San Diego is good.  Tijuana might be better._    
  
Either way, she was guaranteed more sunlight than San Francisco would provide and right now, sunlight was her new best friend.  Glancing down at the gas gauge, Cordy figured she’d stop for the night at the next exit.  There was no way anyone would find her there.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The kitchen was empty when they finally headed inside, dirty dishes piled in the sink and food warming on the stove.  Dawn could hear the low murmur of voices in the living room, though she couldn’t tell who was in there.  
  
Grabbing a plate, she motioned for Casey to get one, then started piling spaghetti on hers.  She was really hungry and the events of the last twenty-four hours and the emotional roller-coaster were beginning to tell on her.  She was tired.  Really tired.  
  
They had just sat down at the counter when Anya strode into the kitchen.  The baby was mewling loudly, his I’m-hungry-feed-me-now cry piercing the silence.  “I don’t know what to do for him.  He just started crying.”  
  
Before Dawn could answer, footsteps pounded on the stairs and Buffy’s rapid words were countered by Tara’s slower drawl.  “So that worked well didn’t it?  Way better than one of those baby intercom thingies.”  
  
‘Well, I forgot I had it in place.  But yeah,” and Tara’s proud smile lit up the room, “It is pretty cool.  It was only on an emergency basis though.  Should wear off sometime tomorrow.”  
  
“Hey.  How’s the hungry boy?”  Tara smiled at Anya, motioning for the baby, which the ex-demon reluctantly relinquished, despite his wails of hunger.  
  
Anya watched Buffy and Tara, one holding the baby and the other getting his bottle ready and uncaring of the two teens in the room, burst into tears.  Grabbing the sponge, Anya did what she always did when she was upset, she cleaned.  
  
Unsure of how to approach her, though knowing somehow that Anya needed to talk and figuring she desperately needed a friend, Buffy motioned the two teens inside.  “Anya?”  The slayer stood at her side, while Tara stuck her pinky in the baby’s mouth trying to calm him a little while they waited for his bottle to heat.  
  
“I just don’t understand, how come it isn’t okay to talk about things when other people are around?  How come?  Is it wrong?  Am I thinking incorrectly?”  She wiped away a tear, leaving a streak of foamy bubbles across her face, “And why would that make him angry enough to do that?”  
  
Neither of the other two had an answer, though at this moment Anya wasn’t really looking for one.  “Babies are cute and warm and fuzzy and cuddly and holding them is wonderful and sometimes they smell so sweet and what is there not to like?”  
  
Tara grabbed the bottle from the pot, testing it against her wrist, then stuck the nipple into Connor’s mouth, which gave her enough time to come up with, “I think men don’t feel the way we do about babies – or at least some women do.”  
  
“I’m not even sure I want to marry that man right now.  He asked me you know.”  She blew out a breath, disturbing an errant curl that was drooping across one eye.  “He even got me a ring, but I just don’t know.”  
  
Buffy finally found her voice.  “Xander asked you to marry him?”  She paused, thinking hard, “When?  How come you didn’t say anything?”  
  
Anya huffed again, blowing out another breath hard enough to disturb the mound of soap suds in the sink.  “He asked me the night we,” she paused, avoiding Buffy’s suddenly earnest gaze, “The night we fought Glory.”  
  
“Oh.” Buffy’s face fell a bit, but she recovered quickly, “Still, this is happy news, right?”  
  
Anya’s voice dropped to a near whisper.  “I don’t know anymore.  I’m just not sure.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The clarion of alarm echoed in their room, startling them all.  Spike’s, “What the bloody hell?”  Was drowned out only by Buffy’s unintelligent yowl.  
  
Tara waved a hand and the noise stopped.  Sheepishly she apologized, “Sorry.  I did that last night for the baby.  It’s supposed to sound when he’s in a different room from me and crying.  He’s probably hungry.”  
  
Buffy got up from the bed, saying, “Well let’s go get him,” and turning back to Spike, “You want more blood now?”  
  
Thinking to himself for a minute, realizing the more he drank now, even regular stuff, the quicker he’d heal, Spike said, “Yeah, please, kitten.”  
  
“Back in a bit.”  
  
The girls were out the door and halfway down the stairs, voices trailing behind them before either Brit realized it.  
  
“I would have thought Buffy had no interest in children.”  Wesley’s dry observation pulled Spike’s attention away from contemplating his blanket and his thoughts.  
  
“Tha’s an infant.  Bit different from children.  Babies, all females go crazy over ‘em.”  Spike’s assessment was nearly as dry as Wesley’s had been.  
  
Wesley shifted, taking the chair Tara had just vacated.  He was rather reluctant to broach this subject, though he’d come to think that he and Spike had something of a friendship and he felt compelled to discuss some things with him.  Yet he really didn’t want to disturb his recovery.  
  
Spike, for his part, was watching Wesley, waiting for him to spill whatever it was that had him looking so sour.  He was about to prod him a bit when Wesley broke his silence.  
  
“I owe you an apology, Spike.”  
  
A furrowed brow, oddly reminiscent of Spike’s vampiric guise met his words.  “How so?”  
  
“Bringing Angel’s son here.  It was wrong of me, I shouldn’t have.”  
  
His further comments were cut off when Spike interrupted him, “What’re you on about?  Couldn’t rightly go elsewhere, could you?”  
  
He gaped at the blond for a second, then recovered, “Bringing the child of Buffy’s former boyfriend isn’t exactly good form.”  
  
A rather inelegant snort sounded in the air.  “You git.”  He softened the insult with a laugh.  “Thinking wrongly on that one.  ‘S not a problem.  But thanks for the apology.  ‘S not many that would.”   
  
Before Wesley could get on _that_ subject, Spike continued, “Sides, where else were you thinkin’ of goin’?  You know a whole lot of people with enough knowledge of Peaches to keep the sprog safe?”  
  
Gazing at the other man and completely surprising himself in the process as well, Spike said, “Did the right thing, Oxford.  Can’t have Angelus killin’ his own flesh an’ blood.  Killin’ demons is different, vamps are different – that sprog’s a bloody miracle.  Shouldn’t die because his da is wrong in the head.”  
  
Staring at him and trying to process what Spike had just said, Wesley was forced to a realization that both Buffy and Giles had already had to acknowledge.  William the Bloody was far from the average vampire.    
  
His mouth was open and the words flowing out in an uncharacteristic moment, long before he could take them back, “That’s not the chip is it?  That’s . . .  You don’t think Angel would come after the boy? “  
  
“‘S not what I said.”  He stretched his legs for a moment, testing the healing, “He’ll come after the boy.  He’ll come after all of us.  ‘M probably first or second on his list, tied up with the Slayer.  Jus’ dunno which of us he’s gonna come for first.”  
  
Wesley steepled his fingers, thinking deeply.  “You have ideas who else will be a target?”    
  
“You.  The sprog.  Niblet.   An’ then there’s the extras, ones he’s not lookin’ for specifically, but wouldn’t mind takin’ jus’ to worry the rest of us, make us scramble tryin’ to rescue whoever it was.”  
  
‘Add Cordelia to that list.  And probably Fred.”  At Spike’s quizzical look, Wesley explained, “Winifred Burkle is a young woman we rescued  from Pylea when Cordelia got trapped there.  She’s been with us ever since.”    
  
“Didn’t know the cheerleader was that important to him.”  Spike shifted on the bed, his muscles jumping and flexing from the healing and his arm was itching badly again.  Obviously the morphine was wearing off.  Might need more if he was going to try and sleep tonight.  He was tired and nearly every inch of him hurt.  Tara’s touch had helped some and he thought the swelling was down, but the dull ache in his head was back, his right arm was actually jumping, the muscles were anyway, his back ached and his chest was itchier than all hell and his legs kept cramping on him.  This was a bitch, the side effect of rapid healing was the internal violence with which it occurred.  There was no bloody way he was going to get through the next twelve hours without nearly all the morphine.  
  
“Oxford, have Buffy bring up the morphine, would you?”    
  
Wesley studied him for a moment, noting the drawn and exhausted look, the grey tinge to Spike’s normal pallor and the lines of fatigue and pain bracketing around his mouth, realizing what he was seeing.  
  
“Right.  I’ll send her up and get everyone else settled.  As you said, this can wait a bit.  Besides Angelus can’t get in here, so we are safe for the moment.”  
  
Spike closed his eyes, clenching his teeth against the pain blossoming in his head after Wesley left the room.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
He passed the State Highway patrol officer doing eighty-five just before the Sunnydale exit.  For half a mile he ignored the lights and sirens, then he finally stopped at the off-ramp.  Wasn’t like he cared much, though he really didn’t want a passing motorist calling in a complaint about a dead CHP officer on the side of the road.  Because that would mean he’d have to ditch the Viper.  And he really liked this car.  
  
Angel waited until the cop leaned down to ask for his license and registration and then struck with cobra swiftness.  His fangs were in the cop’s neck before he finished speaking and the taste of anger and authority was so delicious, he was drained and dumped in short order.  
  
He rolled into Sunnydale just after nine, according to the Viper’s clock, time enough to establish his presence, let people know he was here.  
  
Angel grinned, slowly driving through the streets of the sleepy little town.  _Sleepy.  Hah._   Pulling into the driveway of the old mansion on Crawford Street, Angel grinned once more.  He really did like this place.  Liked its proximity to – well – the hellmouth, and the Slayer and . . . everything.  
  
Whistling tonelessly, Angel sauntered to the doorway.  
  
 _Oh yeah, it’s good to be home._  
  
Grinning broadly, almost laughing in anticipation, Angel crossed over the threshold and howled with pleasure.


	16. Coming in the air tonight

_**Book Two.  
  
Chapter 16.  Coming in the air tonight.  
  
I’ve seen your face before my friend  
but I don’t know if you know who I am  
well, I was there and I saw what you did  
I saw it with my own two eyes  
so you can wipe off that grin,   
I know where you’ve been  
it’s all been a pack of lies.  
    Phil Collins, In the Air Tonight**_  
  
  
  
  
It hadn’t taken very long for everyone to settle down once those not living at Revello Drive departed.  Dawn was the first one to go to bed, aside from Spike, who’d never left his, since she was practically asleep on her feet by the time Casey left with Xander and Anya.  The conversation had been guarded around the teen, but he knew something was wrong, since Xander insisted on driving him home, even though his house was in the opposite direction from their apartment.    
  
Dawn was followed rapidly by Tara, who first got bottles ready for middle of the night feedings and brought the baby upstairs, settling him in Buffy and Spike’s room.  Wesley had tried staying up, guarding the house, though by eleven o’clock, he was sitting on the couch, fast asleep.    The first time Buffy had to go downstairs to get a bottle for the baby, she’d tried waking him up, though when he didn’t budge, she just took a throw blanket and covered him.     
  
Everyone was out cold when she woke the second time, the house still and silent.  She could hear various snoring sounds coming from Dawn’s room on her way down the stairs and it brought a smile to her face.  She didn’t blame Dawn for any of what had happened, because, really, none of it was her fault.  She laid the blame squarely on the shoulders of all those nameless, faceless monks that had conspired in some way to bring all of this about.  If not for them and Glory, she wouldn’t have had to jump.  Though she also wouldn’t have Dawn.  It was kind of a tough call there.  She wouldn’t trade her sister for anything and really if she had to do it all over again, she probably would have done it . . . _well, no, might not have done everything the same.  Would’ve trusted Spike a little bit more._ Might not have reacted so bitchily if she knew then . . .  _And so would have dumped Riley sooner._    
  
Buffy huffed out a little bit of an ironic laugh, the sound strangely muffled in the quiet house, listening to Wesley shift and mutter in his uncomfortable sleep.  This was her favorite time of night, when everyone else was asleep and the night’s patrol was over.  Glancing at the clock she realized it was close to three and it was about the time she and Spike had been getting back home after patrol lately.  He’d roused a little bit when the baby woke up crying, though still groggy from the effects of an entire bag of morphine, and Buffy figured she’d warm him up some blood and make him drink while she fed the baby.    
  
She was standing in the kitchen, watching the microwave heat up Spike’s blood and keeping an eye on the bottle on the stove, when the first tingles of awareness shot through her spine.  Her back stiffened, the hackles on her neck rising, though she gave no outward indication she was able to sense anything different.  Buffy was certain he couldn’t get in the house, since the disinvite had been done earlier and she was also fairly certain that even if he somehow managed to get an invite, he couldn’t do any violence.   It didn’t help her nerves though.  She was the only one awake, and the only one strong enough to take him on.  
  
The microwave pinged, drawing her attention, and in that moment, she had something of a plan forming in the back of her mind.  She grabbed both the mug and bottle, wandering warily back into the living room.  Checking the big picture window, Buffy didn’t see anything, though the feeling hadn’t dissipated any.  Mug and bottle got placed very carefully on the table next to Wesley’s sleeping form, as she leaned over close to his ear.  “Wesley.  Wake up.  We have company.”  
  
He didn’t stir the first time, but when she whispered in his ear the second time, Wesley slowly opened his eyes, whispered just as softly back, “He can’t get in the house.”  
  
“I know that.  I think he’s circling the house trying to figure out how many of us are here.”  
  
“You aren’t thinking of going out there are you?’  When she didn’t answer, he grabbed her wrist, holding on as forcefully as he could.  “Buffy, you can’t.  It’s not safe.”  
  
“No, I know that, Wes.  I just want to see if I can figure out what he’s doing.”  There was the creak of a floorboard from behind them and they both whirled around, though it was just Tara, silently making her way toward them.   
  
“He’s outside.  Just got here,” was what she said by way of greeting.  At Buffy’s questioning look, she explained, “Um, I set it up, sort of like what I did with the baby, only geared for him.  Lets me know when he’s nearby.  It just woke me up.”  
  
“How come we didn’t hear anything?”  Buffy had grabbed the taller girl’s hand, pulling her down to crouch beside them.  
  
“For me only, remember?”  Tara’s hair fell in front of her face and she brushed it aside.  “So now what do we do?”  
  
“Can you pinpoint where he is from the alarm?”  She felt rather than saw Tara’s response of no.  Buffy kept her eyes on the front window, while Tara focused on the back door.  Motioning Wesley with her hand, Buffy got down on her knees, skittering to the front door.  A low growl sounded from the second floor and all three of them scrambled for the stairs.  Running full out now, Buffy crouched low before entering her bedroom, wary of what might greet her on arrival.  She was not prepared for what she saw.    
  
Standing on wavering feet, Spike was in game face, the baby cradled in his injured right arm, a cocked crossbow in his left.  The bow was aimed at the window.  She was aware of Wesley behind her. Tara was still racing up the steps.  Cautiously she inched around the doorway, still crouched low to the ground.  Careful to stay out of the line of fire, Buffy edged closer to Spike.  Once inside the room, Buffy could see what had gotten Spike up and out of bed, not that she needed any visual confirmation.  Angel was standing outside their window with a wide leering grin on his features.    
  
Her breathing sounded very loud in her own ears and she could clearly hear the sounds of the two breathing deeply behind her.  Spike’s voice was just a rumble in the air, his, “Stay down,” unnecessary but it managed to calm her.  _Okay.  First thing. . .  Get the baby._  
  
She was about to open her mouth to tell Spike she was coming to get the baby, when Tara’s softly hissed “Spike,” got their attention.  
  
Without waiting to worry about whether they were listening or not, Tara continued to whisper.  “Just get the quilt off the bed, Buffy, and be ready to cover Spike.”  
  
Only Spike questioned the instruction, Buffy was already moving away from the wall toward their bed.  “What are you plannin’?”  
  
“When I say so, just drop down, okay?”  He had no idea what the hell she was thinking, but whatever it was, it had damn well better be good.    
  
“Buffy?”    
  
“Yeah.  Got it.”  
  
“Okay.”  She paused, whispering something in Wesley’s ear and then, “Go!”    
  
Wesley walked boldly into the bedroom, drawing Angel’s attention away from Spike, and Tara stood behind Wesley, muttering an incantation, while Spike collapsed to his knees and Buffy swirled the quilt over him and the baby.  A bright blinding light filled the bedroom.    
  
Angel howled in anger, his hands coming up to shield his eyes and he stepped back away from the light, falling off the small piece of roof outside the window.    
  
There was complete quiet in the room, then, “Oh, my god.  Oh, my god.  Spike?  Spike?  Are you okay?  Oh, my god.  Grab the baby.”  
  
Tara dropped to her knees, speaking the words to end the incantation, then moving quickly to get Connor and Spike out from under the quilt.  Wesley double checked the window, making sure it was locked and secured, then as he stepped away, he said to Buffy, “I’m going to make sure everything is secure in the rest of the house.”  
  
Before either of the girls could respond, he was making his way methodically through the house, starting with Buffy’s bathroom.    
  
Spike had passed out, still holding the squirming infant against his side.  Tears were filling Buffy’s eyes and she passed the baby to Tara, trying to re-arrange Spike’s sprawled limbs until they were aligned straight enough for her to lift him back into the bed.  The baby continued to cry and Buffy finally remembered what had woken her up.  “I left his bottle downstairs and blood for Spike.”  
  
“I’ll get them both.  Is he okay?”  Tara was on her feet, preparing to head downstairs when Buffy hauled Spike up in her arms.   
  
“Oof.  He’s heavy.”  Drooping him on the mattress, Buffy grabbed hold of his good arm and pulled him toward the head of the bed.  “Yeah, it was just too much for him, I guess.”  
  
Tara nodded heading out of the room.  Encountering Wesley in the hallway, he accompanied her down to the first floor.  By unspoken agreement, they retrieved the bottle and mug and headed right back up the stairs to Buffy and Spike’s room.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _So that’s where they are._   Wesley had acted quicker than he expected.  How very smart of the ex-Watcher – running to the Slayer for protection.  _And wasn’t that a nice surprise._  
  
What he didn’t like at all was the witch.  He hadn’t been prepared for her to attempt _that_ , using a bright sunlight spell to temporarily incapacitate him.  
  
 _The traitor._  
  
His signature was all over the house, on the grounds surrounding it.  His anger with Drusilla’s whelp had grown the second he neared the Slayer’s house, which had prompted his foray onto the roof.  He was there in bed, in _her_ bed, where the infant was . . .  He’d watched while Spike had gingerly gotten up, nearly laughing in glee when Spike realized who was  standing casually on the roof, staring at the window.  
  
That look on his face had been worth the trip to Sunnydale and _oh, how the not-so-mighty- have fallen._   Angel had always known the bastard was weak, his reaction just now proving it.  _Little William was afraid for his humans . . .  
  
_ And he should be. _  
  
Oh yeah, he should be._  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Obviously we need better wards around the house or a better warning system.”  Spike swam toward consciousness to the sounds of Wesley’s voice.  “Do you think you can adapt that spell further to alert us if Angelus enters the property?”  
  
His comments had to be directed at the witch, because he heard four heartbeats in the room and one he’d recognize if he was dust, “I can try.  I’m not sure how much energy it would require and I’m really not sure about my ability to keep it going.”  Tara’s voice was low and filled with self-doubt.  
  
“Can we find an alternate power source, like maybe electricity or something?”  Buffy’s voice sounded close to his ear and Spike realized his head was in her lap and it was her fingers that were brushing back and forth across his face.  He couldn’t stop the groan from emerging from his mouth, nor could he fight the muscle tremors rippling through his legs. “Spike?  Are you okay?”  
  
“Payin’ for m’own stupidity,” was his wry comment.  “Fuckin’ hell, that hurts.”  
  
“What happened?”  No point in denying he’d passed out from a combination of pain and excessive amounts of morphine, not when they’d all seen him hit the floor, which was the last thing he remembered.  
  
“Tara did it.”  Buffy’s voice held a note of pride that he’d never noticed before.  The witch must have silently protested, because the next words out of Buffy’s mouth were, “Tara actually did it all tonight.  She’s got this great alarm thing, like the baby thing, and, she’s got a ball of sunshine spell.  How cool is that?”  
  
Evidently Glinda must’ve done something else to protest, because Oxford added his penny’s worth of praise.  “It really was quite remarkable.  You’ll have to instruct me how to use it.”    
  
“Good.  So the wanker’s gone, right?”  His question forestalled anymore comments on the witch’s talents and then he remembered, “Didn’t drop the sprog did I?”  
   
“No, Connor’s fine.”  
  
He grimaced and Buffy immediately moved to try and make him more comfortable.  “Tha’s his name?  Connor?  Suppose Peaches did that before his soul went walkabout?”  
  
There was a short silence then Wesley said, “It was the last thing he said to me before he changed.”  
  
Spike heaved a long drawn out sigh, sounding much put upon, then saying, “Suppose we’ll have to call him that then.  Still think spawn was the better choice.”  
  
“Spike.  That’s not nice.”  Buffy tried, but Tara’s giggles were infectious and even Wesley managed a little laugh.  
  
“How long was I out for?”  Spike finally opened his eyes to find himself exactly where he thought he was, his head pillowed on Buffy’s lap as she rested her back against the headboard.    
  
“Not long, only about ten minutes.”  Wesley’s voice answered.    
  
“Right then.  Need a drink, kitten.”  He hated to admit to any weakness, except now he felt worse than he had earlier.  
  
There was a rustling of noises and Tara laid the baby down in his crib while Wesley got to his feet.  “We should be all right for the rest of the night, good night all.”  
  
Then he was gone, followed quickly by Tara, who whispered a soft, “Sleep sweet,” and she too was gone.  
  
Lifting Spike’s head up so she could move to lay down next to him, Buffy stared into his eyes.  “No more fighting about this.  You have to take what you need.”  
  
“Buffy, you keep insistin’ and I say no.”   He steeled his features, trying hard to stick to his guns.  He knew she was going to argue with him.  He just wasn’t entirely sure how she was going to play this.  He thought he was prepared for any argument she could come up with. He was wrong.  
  
“Spike?  What if that had been our baby – what if . . .”  His look of utter disbelief stopped her flow of words.    
  
“Buffy, wha?”  Pausing, he tried to gather his thoughts.  “What are you sayin’?”  
  
“I think it’s pretty obvious.  I’m trying to talk some sense into you.”  She moved closer to him, one arm around his waist, the other tucked under her head.  “You can be so stubborn, you know that?”  
  
He chuckled, intoning, “You wanna be the kettle or the pot?”    
  
She pinched his ass in partial, unspoken response.  The spoken one was, “I’m being serious here, Spike.  You know it’s a possibility.  What would have happened then?  And what if the attacker had been human?  What then?”  She paused once more, letting her words sink into his thick head.  “Spike, you can’t keep sipping.  Two or three mouthfuls aren’t enough  and you really aren’t going to drain me, so stop worrying about it.”  
  
His eyes watched her as she spoke, trying to gauge her conviction and sincerity.  They weren’t going to agree on this subject.  Maybe if he hadn’t know how badly she bled during her monthlies he might not be so stubborn about this and . . . he inhaled deeply.  The smells coming off her were delicious.  Anger.  Fear.  Arousal.  Buffy.  Mate.  _And still bleeding heavily._  
  
“Sweetheart.  Listen to me.  I’m not putting both of us at risk.”  He could feel the dissension rising within her, the argument coming back around to it again, so he cut her off before she could continue, “No.  Listen.  C’mon, kitten.”  Spike nudged her with his bad right hand, getting her to look up at him.  “He’s looking to unnerve us.  Knows you’ll cave before I do.”  
  
“Cave?”  Her whole demeanor changed, her back instantly stiffening with pride and some other emotion Spike wasn’t quite ready to identify.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
He paused, suddenly unsure of what to say and how to say it, without one of two things happening.  The first and the lesser of the two would be Buffy getting angry and taking it out on Angelus, the other being with him sleeping on the couch or worse, tossed out on his ass.  Drawing in very unneeded air, Spike looked into her eyes and for a split second thought about not answering her question, but then she leaned in and brushed a delicate kiss on his chin.  “He knows a part of you, sweetheart, knows how strongly you protect those you love and he knows you can get rattled when your heart is involved.”    
  
“He doesn’t know me anymore.”  Buffy ran her hand up his injured arm, finally curling around his neck.  “He doesn’t know me half as well as he thinks he does.  No one’s known me quite as well as you.  Even before you were chipped, you knew me.”   Resting her head against his chin, Buffy got as close as his numerous injuries would allow.  “So, since you know me so well, what will I do?”  
  
He barked a little short laugh, his left hand worming its way down to cup her hip, then his lips were brushing a kiss over her hair.  “Probably what he least expects.  He knows something’s up with me, tha’ I’m not full strength.    
  
She thought for a minute, nestled in the circle of his arms, just breathing deeply.  “You know . . . he knows now you’re hurt for some reason.  He also knows about the chip.”  He just listened, knowing instinctively she was just thinking out loud.  “So. . . we play it like that, that you’re injured and still have the chip.  In the meantime, we heal you as quickly as possible and make arrangements to get rid of it.”  
  
Spike didn’t say a word waiting patiently for her to finish.  “How long do you think it’ll be before any of the Aurelius vamps come visting?”  
  
“Not sure.  Could be a week at the earliest, that and only depends on who’s closest.  If it’s Dru, last I knew she was back down in Brazil.  No one else is here in the States.”  
  
“You sure about that?”  Her tone was gentler than the question, but he wouldn’t have taken offense anyway.  It had been a long time he’d been away from his side of the killing fields, his information could be wrong.  
  
“No way of knowin’.  I know Dru’s not nearby.  Can’t tell so much o’ the rest.  Only Angelus is near.”  He wasn’t going to lie to her, they’d know the truth soon enough.  
  
“Kay.”  Little kisses were laid on his bare chest, warming him all over.  “So.  How do you wanna get the chipectomy?  Wanna use a demon-friendly surgeon or call the Initiative?”  
  
Despite his earlier stupidity, he’d been feeling kind of okay until she brought that up.  _What a choice._   A surgeon who could easily botch the job or the sanctimonious bastards that had rendered him useless.   “Dunno.  We got a time limit on this?”  
  
“Don’t you want it out?”  She was mystified by his unenthusiastic response.  
  
“I do.  Jus’ don’ wan’ to be a vegetable after.”  Although Spike wanted the damn thing gone, did he want it badly enough to possibly face another of her exes?  They’d already survived the biggest hurdle of all – and it wasn’t Angel, because for some odd reason he still couldn’t fathom it was Xander.  If Buffy could face his daily disapproval, maybe seeing Cardboard wouldn’t be so bad.  There was a bigger hurdle to his getting the hardware removed.  That impediment was one fellow Englishman, – one Rupert Giles – ex-Watcher, and current father figure.  
  
Spike knew he had to mention it, knew it wasn’t just about them.  This affected everyone in the house.  “What about Rupes?  Your Watcher is liable to have somethin’ to say.  And Dawn?  What about her and the witch?”  
  
“Let me worry about Giles.”  She didn’t brush him off, though clearly she wasn’t worried about it.  “Dawn and Tara will be okay with it.”  
  
“Not so sure the Watcher is gonna be okay with this.”  Spike was too tired to argue, which for him, had to be a first.  “Where’s m’blood, woman?”  
  
Placing a kiss on his cheek, Buffy got up and helped him to a semi-sitting position.  Handing him the cooled mug of twice warmed blood, Buffy said, “I really don’t think Giles is gonna be all that hard to convince.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from Phil Collins from the album Face Value


	17. The ragged edges of truth

_**Book Two.  
  
Chapter 17.  The ragged edges of truth  
      
Truth titillates the imagination far less than fiction.  
    Marquis de Sade, L’Histoire de Juliette,   
    ou les Prosperities du Vice, pt. 3.  
  
Truth, like light, is blinding.    
Lies, on the other hand, are a beautiful dusk  
which enhances the value of each object.  
    Albert Camus, The Fall, p. 126  
  
The truth is a snare; you cannot have it, without being caught.  
    Soren Kierkegaard, The Last Years: Journals 1853-55  
  
Truth uncompromisingly told will always have its ragged edges.  
    Herman Melville, Billy Budd, Sailor.**_  
  
  
  
Even though they’d given her permission to skip school, Dawn was up early.  The baby’s cries had woken her and she couldn’t really get back to sleep.  She could hear everyone else moving around downstairs, and she knew Spike was still in bed, yet there was no reason for her to be up.  It took her a while to finally decide she was getting up and by that time Buffy was in the shower, while both the baby and Spike were sleeping again.    
  
After using the bathroom in her mother’s old room, Dawn snuck inside Buffy and Spike’s room.   The baby was on his belly, a tiny little lump in the middle of the crib, his dark hair the only spot of color against the pale sheets and blanket.  Spike, on the other hand, was sprawled out on the bed, left arm flung wide while the right one was still propped up on one of the pillows.  He was sound asleep, his breathing very slow and steady, occasional rumbling noises emanating from his chest.  Dawn stood in the little patch of sunlight just watching him, weird thoughts running through her head.  
  
 _I wonder if that’s why I sleep that way when I’m really tired . . . does he dream?_ He stirred, his injured arm jerking with a muscle spasm, then settled quickly.  _I really hope he’s not mad at me.  I don’t want him to be.  I can’t believe he got this hurt trying to protect me.  Is he crazy?  We could have just run away . . . he didn’t have to stay.  Oh god.  He could have been gone.  Dust._   Tears pooled in her big blue eyes and Dawn sniffled loudly in the quiet room.    
  
There was no change in his muscles, no change in his breathing to indicate he wasn’t anything other than asleep, yet Spike’s voice broke into her musings.  “Mornin’, Platelet.”  
  
“Ack!”  Wiping the tears from her eyes, she sort of griped back at him, “Geez, Spike, you scared the hell out of me.”    
  
“Nice to know I still can.”  His groan of pain seemed to come from his toes and he stretched a bit, trying to ease the healing itch.  He hated this part of the rapid healing.  Felt like fire ants were crawling around inside his skin for days.  Least this time he had morphine to help.  When Glory had taken her frustrations out on him, he’d had to keep himself inside a bottle of whatever he could find.  Thankfully, this time he had the good stuff.  Right now he needed another shot of it.  His skin felt like it was on fire.  
  
“Are you feeling any better?”  He’d almost forgotten she was still in the room.  
  
“Eh.  Sort of.  ‘M all itchy.”  He was about to ask her to go get him something to soothe it, when her voice caught his attention.  
  
“Why did you do it?”    
  
“Do wha’?”  He struggled to lift his head up and she scooted to his side, lifting him and piling the pillows behind him so that he was no longer flat on his back.  
  
“Stay and fight.  Why?”  She sat down on the bed, one leg folded underneath her, staring at his still battered features.    
  
She had a look on her face that was so reminiscent of her sister he wanted to laugh.  He would have too, if it wasn’t the look he hated.  “Needed to make sure you were safe.  Couldn’t let anything happen to you.”  
  
“But why?”  She looked away from him then, mumbling softly, “It might be better if I wasn’t here.  No one would get hurt then.”    
  
Without his enhanced hearing, he never would have heard her.  Her words went straight to his heart.  “Dawn.  Look at me.”    
  
The eyes that focused on his were swimming with tears and a very dark blue.  “Don’t think like tha’.  Your sis couldn’t take ‘nother thing goin’ wrong.  Couldn’t forgive m’self if somethin’ were to happen to either of you.”    
  
Her head shook in denial.  “Why?  I don’t do anything but make people hurt.   Glory beat your ass and sucked Tara’s brain because of me.  Buffy . . .”   The tears that had been threatening finally slid down her cheeks and when he reached out his hand to wipe them away, Dawn flinched.  “You shouldn’t. . . why did you do it _again_ to protect me?  I’m not . . . I shouldn’t even be here.  All I do is destroy everything around me.”  
  
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  _This couldn’t . . ._ “Niblet?  Wha’ are you thinkin’?  Wasn’t your fault at all what happened.  Not then, an’ not now.”  This time when he reached for her she didn’t flinch, she just collapsed against his side, her head resting on his chest.  “Not your fault, sweets.  None o’this.”    
  
Running his hand down her long brown hair, Spike wished for a moment that he could really put his arms around her, letting her cry on his shoulder like he did before Buffy came back.  Hugging her tighter with his arm, Spike kept up his litany, trying to comfort her.  She mumbled something else through her tears and he pushed her back a little, searching her face for signs of what she’d just said.  
  
“Dawn?  C’mon.  It’s not your fault.”  Using his thumb to wipe her eyes, Spike tilted her face so she couldn’t avoid looking back at him, “Love you.  Do you know that?  Love you like no one else.  You’re my Niblet.”  
  
He’d thought that would have calmed her, thought she was settling down, but at his softly worded declaration, Dawn burst into fresh tears.  She pulled away from him, getting off the bed, her hands balled into fists.  “Don’t love me.  It will just end up . . . just. . . _how_ can you love me?”  
  
“Because I do.”  His voice was calm and deep with emotions he rarely showed anyone.  She was so upset she was shaking and he started to get up out of the bed, realizing abruptly he was still bare-assed naked under the sheets.    “Dawn, c’mere.  C’mon.”  
  
Despite her shaking her head no, Dawn sat back down on the bed, this time perched on the edge.   Spike reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together.  “I love you, Niblet.  Not the same way I love your sis, but, I love you.  Have to take care of the ones I love, an’ tha’s you.  Both of you.”  
  
Her chin lifted in stubbornness, Dawn refused to look at him, almost growling out, “Doesn’t mean you’re supposed to die for us.”  
  
“Yeah, it does.  If tha’s how I keep you safe, then tha’s wha’ it means.”  He wasn’t going to fail either one of them ever again.  If he had to dust to keep them safe, he would.    
  
“No, dammit!  Don’t you dare die on me.  I need you.  Stupid vampire.  I need you. . .” Her voice trailed off, after the outburst, her free hand brushing away more tears.  “You can’t die.  I need you.”  
  
“Niblet.  You don’ need me.  You’ll be fine without me if it comes to it.  You did fine . . . this summer.”  She stared at him, not really believing what he was saying.  
  
“No.  I didn’t . . . I _wasn’t_ fine all summer.  My mother was gone. . . my sist –  god you are so stupid!  Joyce was dead and she . . . and Buffy and . . . the only one of my family that was left was you!  I wasn’t fine.  I needed my mother!”  Her voice had risen to an almost shriek, uncaring about the baby or anyone else overhearing.  “Damn you, Spike.  I needed both my parents!  My mother and my father!  I needed my mommy and my daddy.  And all I had was my father.”  
  
The words had spilled from her in such a rush that she had no idea what she’d said, until she looked up into his face and saw that he’d heard her.  
  
  
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _Hot water.  Yeah for showers and hot water._   Buffy was in an okay mood, well, a way better mood than yesterday. After Angel’s . . Angelus’ late night visit, she and Spike had stayed up a little bit longer and Buffy had finally convinced Spike to take more blood from her.  They’d also reached a decision about the chip.  They weren’t going to make inquiries, either about surgeons or the Initiative, until after Giles came home and they had a chance to confer with him.  For some odd reason, Spike insisted on telling Dawn, and he also wanted Tara to know before they got it removed.  Buffy had an idea that it was because he cared for the both of them and valued their opinions.  
  
She wasn’t stupid enough to think Xander was going to agree with it at all. _But right now, not so sure I care what Xander thinks.  
_  
The bathroom door was open just enough in case the baby woke up or if Spike needed her and her train of thought was interrupted by a sound she hadn’t expected.  Unable to hear clearly because of the running water, she quickly rinsed off, closing the taps.  
  
Dawn’s voice came through the open doorway, though her words were muffled and her voice low, Buffy was able to distinguish only some of her words.  Then she heard, “Doesn’t mean you have to die for us.”  
  
Grabbing a towel, Buffy stepped closer to the door in time to partially hear Spike’s response, “If tha’s wha’ it takes to keep you safe, then tha’s wha’ it means.”  
  
Resting her head against the door jamb, Buffy almost had to hold herself up.  _I’m an idiot, coz I know he loves me and god, I do love him back._   Dawn was speaking again, almost shouting, “Stupid vampire!  You can’t die on me.  I need you.”  
 _  
You tell him, Dawnie!  I need him too.  Stupid vampire is right.  Can’t die on us.  We need you too much._   Buffy heard his idiotic reply and then Dawn was shrieking at him, only this time it was things Buffy hadn’t heard from her sister before now.  Her own tears were sliding from behind closed eyelids as she listened to her sister.  “I _wasn’t_ fine all summer.  My mother was gone. . . my sist, god you are so stupid!  Joyce was dead and she . . . and Buffy and . . . the only one of my family that was left was you!  I wasn’t fine.  I needed my mother!”     
  
Buffy had to stuff her fist in her mouth to stop her own sobs and she slid inside the open door, her eyes barely able to see the pair on the bed through her tears.  “Damn you, Spike!  I needed both my parents!  My mother and my father.  I needed,” Dawn’s voice broke and she collapsed in a heap, “my mommy and my daddy.  And all I had was my father.”  
  
Buffy’s head snapped up in time to watch Dawn realize what had flown from her mouth.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The words had poured forth from her mouth in a torrent, heedless of the consequences, like water held back too long by a dam.  
  
Dawn realized a split second too late what she’d just said.  Tears stopped and every muscle froze.  Spike was staring at her, almost studying her features.  Afraid to move, afraid to stay, Dawn felt the air behind her change, though before she could get up and run, Buffy was there with one hand on Dawn’s shoulder and the other clutching her towel.  Involuntarily Dawn dropped her head down, completely missing the look shared between the two adults.  
  
 _Why can’t I ever learn to shut up?_  
  
No one said a word.  The room was very silent, the only sounds the rapid breathing of the two youngest occupants.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
He knew when she’d turned off the shower.  When she stepped onto the rug.  When she’d grabbed the towel.  When she started listening to Dawn.  When her own tears started to compliment her sister’s.  When she’d come back into their bedroom.  
  
Even knowing all that, she still wasn’t the focus of his attention.  Dawn was.  Her words, her pain and her heartbreak were his focus.  And it narrowed even further at Dawn’s slip of the tongue.  He’d nearly said something harsh about Hank Summers, when the gist of her words caught him.  Dawn wasn’t talking about Hank – she was talking about _him_.  And she obviously never meant to say it out loud, because her face was more shocked than his.  
  
Searching her face, Spike took stock of her features.  It had been a very long time since he’d seen himself in a mirror, but he knew his own face, knew when it looked back at him.  _Why the bleeding hell didn’t I see this before?  Am I just as blind as the rest of those idiot Scoobies?_ Dawn looked like his mother.  Raising his eyes to the green depths of his heart, Spike also saw Buffy’s features within her sister . . . _No._ They weren’t _sisters._ Not really _._ The sudden conviction of that notion wouldn’t be shaken.  
  
Over Dawn’s head, Spike stared at Buffy, his eyes on hers.  He smiled, then mouthed, “I love you.” At sight of her answering smile and whispered, “I know” he turned his attention to . . . _their child._  
  
Reaching out his hand, Spike traced a finger down her nose.  “That’s mine.”  
  
Dawn jerked her head up so fast she nearly ended up with Spike’s finger in her mouth.  Her raised eyebrow and expression weren’t his, which he pointed out by remarking, “That’s all your. . . Buffy.”  
  
“My Buffy?”  Dawn finally found her voice.  
  
He thought hard for a second, unsure what to say, just settling on, “Not sure how you wan’ to word it, pet.”  
  
She was silent for long minutes, then finally on a deep indrawn breath, Dawn said, “You’re my parents.  My _real_ honest-to-god-parents.”  
  
When neither one said anything to refute her, Dawn continued, “I found it in the journals Wes brought.  I had to know.”  
  
They shared another look over her head, while Spike said, “You took them from the Watcher’s.  Stole ‘em.”  
  
Lying wouldn’t pay, not at this point.  “Sort of.  Wasn’t going to keep them.  I put back the first set I took.”  
  
“It’s okay, Dawnie.  I guess I understand.”  Buffy sat down in front of Dawn, next to Spike.  “I think I would’ve done pretty much the same thing.”  
  
Spike remained silent, knowing his actions probably would’ve been worse, but for once letting common sense rule his tongue.  Buffy leaned against his shoulder, her hand reaching out to hold onto her, _well . . . sister really doesn’t fit any more does it?_  
  
“So what did you find?”  Buffy was curious now.  
  
“They’ve been tracking Slayers for a really long time, and they’ve been trying to give them the key for almost as long, but, uh, something kept getting in their way.”  
  
Somehow knowing this was going to end up as his fault even if it wasn’t, Spike asked, “An’ wha’ was that?”  
  
“In the beginning it was because the Slayers weren’t strong enough, or they died just before the monks could come up with a form for the key.  But then it was because of a Dark Warrior who was destined to help a Chosen One.”  Dawn caught Buffy’s eye and they shared a smile.  “A Vampire who kept battling and defeating the Chosen Ones.”  
  
“Been readin’ far too many of the Watcher’s books, there, sweet bit.  Lay off with the forebodin’ language, will ya?”  Spike had grimaced at her intonation, looking away from both the girls.  
  
“I counted _seven_ Slayers you fought – were there more?  Oh!”  She peeked at Buffy, then went on heedlessly, “Some Slayer you fought just before World War I?  She died of her injuries later.  So really, you already have a third.”  
  
He growled at her then – a real honest to goodness growl.  Dawn realized she’d overstepped a line though she wasn’t really sure what it was.   _Is he more upset about killing the slayer slowly or something else?_  
  
“How long have these blokes been followin’ me?”  He was aggravated and he wasn’t really sure what the real source of the aggravation was.  
  
“Since the Boxer Rebellion.”  She couldn’t look at either of them, wary now about their reactions to what she was telling them.  The tension within Spike had grown considerably, especially since she’d mentioned him fighting slayers, and her sister. . . _no_ , Buffy was just sitting there quietly taking all this in, not saying a word.  Which had her more wigged than she wanted to be.  
  
“Bloody fucking hell.”  He was. . . he felt . . . he didn’t know what he was feeling.  Didn’t mind so much about Dawn being a part of him, though he really didn’t like the fact that the monks had been following his actions for years.  
  
“It’s all in the journals.  Well, as much as they knew.  I wasn’t sure it was you until they found you again in New York, all decked out in leather and bleached hair.”  She tried for being as nonchalant as possible and somehow managed to achieve it.  
  
“Niblet. . .”  His warning was clear.  
  
“What?  What am I . . . ?”  His eyes shifted to the side, toward Buffy and Dawn finally realized what they’d been talking about.  “ _Oh_.  Sorry Buff. . . ” She stopped talking, then in a very small voice said,“ _Mom_?”  
  
Buffy had only been half listening to their conversation, instead she’d just been watching the two of them, and hadn’t really heard what Dawn had just said. _They really do look alike._ It was really scary how alike they were.  “It’s okay, Dawnie . . . I know.   It’s okay.”  
  
She and Spike had talked about his past some, in the dark hours when they were the only two beings awake in Sunnydale.  He hadn’t been all true-confessions, though she knew him well enough to read between what he said and what he wouldn’t say.  This information from an independent source wasn’t that big a deal.  She wasn’t stupid, he couldn’t possibly have killed the only other two slayers he’d ever fought.  He _was_ good, but killing every slayer he’d fought would mean he was the vampire equivalent of a slayer.  _Although. . ._  
  
 _What_ had startled her was their resemblance.  Without much of a warning, and completely off topic from their prior conversation, Buffy blurted out, “You look just like each other.  You didn’t get anything from me.”  
  
And if the situation wasn’t so serious, Spike would’ve teased her about the petulance of her tone.  “She did, love.  Got plenty from you.”  
  
Buffy was shaking her head in denial.  Looking at the two of them with a new perspective, she had to admit it.  “How did we miss this?  Your noses, eyes, pretty much the structure of your faces, and Dawnie got your height.”  Her pout was adorable though Spike was ignoring it for now, beginning to point out all their similarities.  
  
“Her mouth is all you, kitten.  Attitude.  Mannerisms.  She may look like me, but her personality is all you.”    
  
Opening her mouth to protest, Buffy was interrupted by Dawn, who snarked at both of them, “Sitting right here, in the room.  On the bed with you.”  
  
“Sorry.  Our bad.”  Buffy glanced over at Spike who was watching Dawn with a strange look on his face.    
  
“You look like m’mum.”  He smiled then, a bit sadly, continuing, “She had hair like yours, only with more of a curl to it.  Long and dark, always wore it up.  Took it down only to brush . . . it was down past her waist.”  His voice trailed off and both girls held their breath, hoping he would continue, but he kept his silence.  
  
Spike looked away, his eyes on a long dead vision, his mum with Gordie and Janet and. . .  His da, before they were all gone and just the two of them were left.   Buffy tilted her head at Dawn, silently asking her to move and when she did, Buffy shifted so she was facing Spike.  Her left hand reached out to cup his chin gently, drawing his gaze back to her.  For long seconds he was still not seeing her and Buffy was afraid he was going to shrug her off, when suddenly he was focused on her.  His brilliant blue eyes gazed into hers and Buffy’s eyes filled with tears at the expression on his face.   
  
“Family.  Spike, we’re a family.”  
  
“Yeah.”  He shook off the memories of his first family, smiling at her.  “Yeah.”  
  
His hand wiped away tears she didn’t remember shedding and Buffy nuzzled a kiss into his palm.  Very slowly she inched closer to him, her words for his ears only.  “Yours, Spike.  We’re yours.  _I’m_ yours.”  
  
Resting his forehead against hers, his big hand still cupping her cheek, her hand now resting on his shoulder, Spike rumbled softly, “I love you, Buffy Anne Summers.  F’rever.”  
  
Pulling her close, tucking her head under his chin so that her breath warmed the spot where his heart used to beat, Spike breathed deeply, raising his eyes to where Dawn stood watching them.  
  
“C’mere, you.”  He rumbled at the teen, gesturing her forward with his left hand.  Buffy moved her legs, creating a spot for Dawn, who just put her head down on Buffy’s hip.  Spike smoothed out her hair, slipping the brown strands through his fingers.  Dawn wiped the tears from her eyes, while Buffy curled her arms around Spike.  
  
His voice was low and deep, curling like warm liquid chocolate through both of them, the words a promise and an oath.   “Love both of you.  My girls.”  
  
They were quiet for a long time, none of them willing to break the silence, until there was a rustling of sorts and the baby started crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from Herman Melville (paraphrased it somewhat); this was probably one of my favorite chapters to write. Ever.


	18. Communication got me down.

_**Book Two.  
  
Chapter 18.  Communication got me down.  
  
The communication  
of the dead is tongued with fire  
beyond the language of the living.  
    T.S. Eliot’s memorial inscription,   
    Poet’s Corner,  Westminster Abbey (from Little Gidding)  
  
Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth  
belong to any human disclosure;  
seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised,  
or a little mistaken.  
    Jane Austen, Emma  
  
Women’s propensity to share confidences is universal.  
We confirm our reality by sharing.  
    Barbara Grizzute Harrison, Secrets Women Tell Each Other**_  
  
  
He’d gotten precious little sleep.  He hadn’t expected to get much in any case, the news from home giving him more than enough reason for concern.  There was a sense of impending doom Giles felt he needed to avert that was causing him the most amount of worry.  Just over five hours ago, he’d been sitting in this same library, in nearly the same damned chair and the uneasiness hadn’t dissipated at all.  In fact, it had grown bigger, sort of like a spill of dark liquid leaching into a pristine white tablecloth.    
  
An hour ago, he’d gotten a phone call from Wesley, updating him on everything. Nothing was good.  The old adage no news was good news was being tested in this case.  There were no new developments and the status was still piss-poor.  Giles was beginning to think they were heading into deeper troubles rather than coming out of it all.    
  
He also wasn’t quite sure what they should do about Angel.  Angelus.    
  
It was almost beginning to not matter what they called him.  Neither one of his appellations fit him.  There was nothing angelic about the vampire.   _But, really, old man, he could hardly walk around being called ‘satan’ or ‘devil’.  Even if those names fit him better._  
  
Glancing down at the weighty book on the table before him, Giles shook his head and focused once again on the matter at hand.  At the moment he was searching out possible mentions of the monks or the Key in the Slayer Annals.  So far, it was a waste of his time, and he had no reason at all to continue searching, and he really . . . didn’t . . . _What the bloody hell?_  
                  
 _It wasn’t possible.  Has to be just a coincidence._    He was frozen in place, staring at the name on the page in front of him.  It was the list of Slayers from the year 1603 to 1699, including some potentials.  _It couldn’t possibly be the same girl._   Had to just be a misprint or a similar name.  Yet the hair on his neck was rising and his stomach was telling him it wasn’t just a similar name, wasn’t a misprint.  Ignoring the looks his increasing agitation was garnering, Giles got to his feet and headed directly to the books he’d been reading the night before.  
  
Flipping quickly through the pages, at first he passed right by the information he was looking for.  Heading back to his seat, the book in hand, the pages rustling loudly in his haste, Giles was mumbling to himself under his breath.  “Can’t be.  Got to be wrong.  Has to be wrong.  Just a . . .”   
  
There it was.  1623.  Isabeau de la Fontaine, delivered of a son, after dying in the year 1622.    
  
Looking down at the book on the table, there it was again.  Isabeau de la Fontaine, potential, identified in the year 1619.  Never called as a Slayer.  
  
Ripping off his glasses, Giles flipped a few pages back in the smaller book, finding another girl who’d given birth to a vampire’s child.  Bryn of Rhuddlan, died 1587, gave birth to two children, first in 1588 and then again in 1591.  Searching through the Slayer Annals, Giles found her identified as a potential in 1585.    
  
Only two so far.  Might just be a coincidence.    
  
 _Could be_.  
  
Though he really didn’t think it was.    
  
Sitting down heavily in his chair, Giles got set to cross reference all the girls.    
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Buffy?”  Tara’s voice broke into the other girl’s musings, drawing her back into reality.  
  
“Hey.  What’s up?”  _Damn.  Cornflakes are all soggy now._ Wrinkling up her nose at the lumpy mess, she got up from the counter, dumping the bowl’s contents into the garbage.  
  
“Last night?  At the supermarket, Oz and I ran into Willow.”  Buffy looked at her, waiting for her to continue.  “She’s changed.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  Pausing, she rambled, “Willow’s Willow, always the same.  Well not so much, she did change from high school to college girl and,” catching sight of the bemused look on Tara’s face, Buffy said, “Never mind.  Tell me.”  
  
“I’m not sure what she did, but she’s not the girl I dated.”  Trying for composure, Tara inhaled deeply, continuing, “The thing is she’s done _something_.  She’s darker, you know?”  
  
“Tara?  Try again, coz I’m not following you.”  
  
“Right.  When we saw her I checked her aura, because, well, she looked different.  Her face was all white, all her color was gone and, and, her hair is shot through with black.  So I checked.”    
  
She now had Buffy’s full attention.  “Go ahead, tell me.”  
  
“I got a glimpse of what she’d done.  It isn’t good.  She did something to call forth . . . I’m not certain, but whatever she did isn’t working the way she thinks it is.”  Tara took a deep breath.  “Whatever she did – the goddess – the response was ‘ _be careful what you wish for_ ’.”  
  
“Oh no.”    This didn’t sound too good.  “So this means?”  
  
“That Willow’s either not prepared for the answer or, or she’s gotten exactly what she’s asked for.”  Tara was fiddling with the breakfast dishes, not really looking at Buffy while she explained her impressions.  
  
“Which is?”  She’d stopped what she was doing, her attention fully focused on the other girl, realizing she was about to hear something she didn’t necessarily want to know about the girl who used to be her best friend.  
  
“Something really not good.”  Purposefully unloading the dishwasher, Tara missed the narrowing of the Slayer’s eyes, her own agitation increasing every time she thought this through.  She’d spent half the morning debating with herself about telling Buffy and Spike her suspicions over what she’d inadvertently discovered about Willow and earlier, when she’d stopped outside their room, she’d heard Dawn’s voice, Tara had thought better of interrupting them.  
  
“Tara?  What aren’t you telling me?”  Buffy had been watching her, realizing that Tara was very upset about what she was about to say.  
  
Blowing out a breath, Tara said, “I think the reason why Spike got hurt is because Willow summoned the knights.”  
      
Buffy stared at the witch, a hundred different thoughts racing through her head.  _No, she wouldn’t do that, my Willow wouldn’t. . . you so sure about that, Buffy?  This is the same Willow that hurt your sister and her own girlfriend and brought you back from heaven. . . and who else has she been hurting?  What else has she done that you don’t know about?  This isn’t the same girl you first met five years ago. . . this is someone else._   Buffy got a faraway look in her eyes, staring into nothingness, not seeing the girl in front of her.    
  
“Does she hate me that much?”  Unaware that she’d said the words out loud, Buffy was startled back to herself by Tara’s soft hand on her arm.    
  
“I don’t think it’s you she hates.  I’m not sure what she’s feeling anymore.”  Tara watched carefully as Buffy snapped back to herself, concern for the other girl overpowering her own sense of unease.  
  
“So why would she do something like that?  What’s the purpose behind summoning the knights?”  This was bewildering, Buffy couldn’t understand why someone would do something like that.  “The knights were there to hurt Dawn, so why would she summon them?”  
  
Drawing Buffy toward the back door, Tara tried to settle her thoughts.  They were the only ones downstairs at the moment, Dawn was out with Casey, Wesley had gone to the Magic Box and Spike and the baby were still sleeping upstairs.  It was as good a time as any to talk about what she’d seen in Willow’s aura.  Before they knew it, the girls were seated on the back step, basking in the late October sunlight.    
  
“I’m not sure, not completely sure about this, so you have to, to just trust me on this, okay?”  Tara looked at Buffy, unconsciously wringing her hands, trying to come up with a way to voice her concerns.  Without waiting for a response, she tried again, ‘I just – the thing is,”  she sighed deeply, stilling as Buffy’s hand touched her arm, then Tara blurted out, “Her aura is dark and not good dark, sometimes dark can be good, like dark purple or dark gold or, dark blue and, and dark green.  But this was dark red and dark black and . . .”    
  
The steam seemed to go out of her and Tara slumped down further on the step she was sitting on, her hands clenched together tightly.  Bowing her head, hiding her face in her hair, her voice sounded very softly between them.  “I think Willow is trying to hurt Spike.  I think she tried to get his true face to show.”  
  
The air was very silent, the street noises so very far away in that moment, like they belonged to another place and a different time, like the noises of everyday had no business being part of the conversation taking place on the back porch.  Neither girl moved, each of them lost in the enormity of what one had just confessed to the other.    
  
The truth isn’t always kind, nor is it caring of what was before or what will come after, only that it is heard.  Truth never has an easy birth.  Yet once it arrives, there is a feeling of rightness, a sense of having known what the truth is before it is even uttered, an inescapable moment, when the speaker and the witness know, deep in their souls, that a truth has been revealed.    
  
Buffy shivered, a chill working its way up her spine, dancing across every nerve.  Her voice, when she spoke after so long a silence, was even and uninflected, almost devoid of emotion.  “She wants to hurt him because of _me_.    Because I’m not what she wants me to be.  Because I haven’t gone to her or accepted what she did.  Spike may have been the target of her anger, but she’s really pissed at me.  Why else would she do what she did?”  
  
There was no question about believing Tara, Buffy knew as soon as the other girl had spoken, that Tara was speaking truth.  Willow had done the summoning.  Had set into motion events that she couldn’t control . . . _but hadn’t Willow always done that?_   How many times had Willow felt slighted or wronged or betrayed in some way only to lash out when control of a situation escaped her?  When Oz left and she had no control over anything, Willow had lashed out and caught them all up in a spell that had colossal impact. . . and then, when she’d jumped . . . again, there was Willow with the non-acceptance.    
  
“Oh, god.  Tara. . . she’s. . . oh my god.  She’s going to keep going until something bad happens, right?”  Buffy turned wild eyes to the other girl, her hand clenching and unclenching around her wrist.  “What . . . she can’t.  I can’t lose him.  I . . .”  
  
Tearing herself away from Tara, Buffy was through the back door before the other girl even realized she was gone.  The sound of feet pounding up the stairs was audible outside, then the sound of a door banging open echoed through the backyard.  Barely able to make out their voices, Tara could guess what Buffy had done upon entering the room.    
  
Dropping her head down into her hands, Tara tried to stop the tears, even all the while knowing it was futile.    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
He’d taken the last of the liquid morphine after Dawn left the room earlier.  There hadn’t been all that much anyway and it was mostly just to calm the muscle spasms that had been wracking him since he’d drunk from Buffy at first light.  He’d gotten a concession of sorts from her, when he’d agreed to drink, he wasn’t going to take more than just little bits until her – on the condition she agree to wait –  until her courses were done.  She hadn’t liked his condition, in fact had almost started another argument about it, but he’d verbally boxed her into a corner and she had no choice.  
  
They had enough human blood on hand anyway that he could, if he wanted to, gorge himself on, yet strangely enough he wasn’t all that hungry.  What he was, was itchy and sore and he could really use a good soak and he needed to wash his bloody hair.  
  
It was easier right now to focus on the physical ailments rather than the other things that had gone on in the last forty-eight hours anyway.  At least the physical reminders were fading.  The other stuff . . . Spike groaned and rolled over onto his side.  Pretty much everything was healing, although he was still hovering near the halfway healed mark.  Buffy’s blood would do the trick.  
  
The baby shifted in his sleep, rustling the blankets a bit.  Spike didn’t know much about babies, but he did know that two day old ones weren’t supposed to move around.  They were just supposed to lay there.  This one was restless.  Shifting about, snuffling in his sleep, he was unusually active.  _Fair enough, child is of supernatural parentage, stands to reason something would be different about him._ His parents were both master vampires, no doubt he’d gotten something from both of them, since they weren’t normal.  
  
Which brought him back to thinking about his own . . . Dawn.  From the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d known there was something about her that called to him, something on such a deep level that he’d never questioned it.  Just known she was somehow part of him – he’d never imagined that she literally was part of him.  She was his.  
  
 _His daughter._  
  
Part of him was beyond angry that the monks had planted the Gem here, specifically for him, to lure him in, then engineered other events of his unlife to suit their purposes.  He didn’t mind so much being love’s bitch – but he resented the hell out of being destiny’s plaything.  Part of him hated the monks.  They’d stolen something from him – and from Buffy, using The Initiative to do their dirty work, in turn stealing the blood and tissue samples from Initiative labs and . . . creating Dawn.  
  
His anger didn’t matter then.  
  
Wasn’t at all important.  
  
Because every wrong thing the monks had done was outweighed by the one good thing they had done.  
  
They’d given him Dawn.  
  
 _His daughter._  
  
And through her, the monks had given him a second blessing, because of Dawn’s appearance, he’d gotten the unattainable girl.  He’d gotten Buffy.  
  
So the anger wasn’t important at all.  
  
Spike just let it go, and like vampire dust drifting away, the anger disappeared.  
  
When the baby had cried, after Dawn had dropped the bombshell on them, he’d realized yet another benefit.  Because of the monks, and Dawn, he and Buffy had the same chance that Angel and Darla had been given – and that, that was something _he’d_ always wanted.  Home.  Wife.  Family.  
  
Opening his eyes to stare at the crib, Spike watched Connor shift around again.  He was getting ready to let loose a full throated cry when big cool strong hands lifted him up to an equally strong cool chest.  Crooning softly, Spike laid back down on the bed, Darla’s son cradled protectively in his arms.  The baby settled down, mewled once, going right back to sleep.  
  
“Your mum had the right way of it.  Rather than hurt you, she did the right thing, to protect you.”  His low voice rumbled in his chest and it wasn’t until his breathing hitched that Spike realized he had tears in his eyes.  “Much as I hated your mum half the time, she did the right thing.  Only thing she forgot was taking your idiot father with her.  But tha’s all right, got old uncle Spike to watch out for you.”  
  
Brushing a hand down the baby’s back, he said, “Promise to the memory of your mum, and my daughter, I’ll do m’best to keep you safe.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Her feet hit the steps at a dead run, pounding at the same rate as her heartbeat.  What Tara had just said chilled her to the bones, and coupled with what Wesley had said last night, Buffy was nearly in a full blown panic.    
  
She knew it had taken a lot for Tara to admit that it was all Willow’s doing, to face the realization that Willow was at the root of what was happening now, the reason Dawn was in danger and Spike had nearly been dusted.  In fact, save for Angel going homicidal again, almost all the bad stuff that had been happening lately was all Willow’s fault.  Even the Huntsman’s appearance was her fault.  
  
Buffy slammed through the door to their room, gasping breaths sucking in much needed air, her panic receding somewhat at finding the two of them curled up together on the bed.  Connor was sleeping in the crook of Spike’s arm, his nose pressed up against the vampire’s chest, Spike’s right hand resting lightly on his back.  Tears welled up in her eyes and she really wasn’t even sure why they did so.  
  
Spike’s voice was soft in the room, trying not to disturb the baby sleeping in his arms.  “What’s wrong?”  
  
“I. . . Tara thinks Willow cast a spell, did something to bring the knights here.”  Agitation was clear in Buffy’s voice and Spike opened his eyes to find her wringing her hands and pacing the room.  
  
“An’ you came charging up here because?”  He wanted to know the real reason her heart was pounding like a trip hammer and her breathing was off.  
  
“Spike, she wants to hurt you.  She wants you gone.  I can’t. . . I’m not, I can’t let that happen.  I don’t think I could survive that.”  Buffy hadn’t stopped moving, unable to sit still  or calm her panic.  
  
“Kitten,” he paused, waiting for her full attention.  “Buffy, c’mere.”  Almost reluctantly she moved toward their bed, still unable to stop hyperventilating. “‘Member what you said ‘bout me?  That I wouldn’t go away even if you sent me?  How I’d keep at ya ‘til you took me back?   _Buffy_ , c’mere.”  
  
Holding his arm out, he gestured for her to come closer.  “Buffy.  I love you more than you understand.  If somethin’ were to happen – even if I got dusted, I’d find a way back.  ‘M not leavin’ you, kitten, ever.”  
  
She moved onto the bed, Connor snuggled tightly between them, his arm covering them both, his hand firmly on her butt.  Buffy looked into his eyes, seeing again the look of fierce tenderness he held just for her, “I love you.  Have from the first.  Not goin’ to waste any more time.  Got you, Niblet, and spawn here to worry over.  Not goin’ w’out a fight.”  
  
Her hand reached out to cup his cheek and Buffy felt the walls around her heart crumbling away to nothing.  “God, Spike – how could I not love you?”  
  
Spike’s slow grin warmed her heart.  Not quite how he wanted them said, but he’d take this until she was ready to say the others.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The phone ringing was an annoyance her sleeping mind didn’t want to deal with, so she tried ignoring it.  It would ring for a while, then stop for a little bit, then start ringing again.  _Really, couldn’t you just leave me alone?_  
  
Groaning and rolling over at the same time, Willow finally gave in and reached for the phone.  ‘What is it now, Xander?”  
  
There was silence for a moment, then his voice drifting over the line asked, “How did you know it was me?”  
  
“Xander?  It’s a witchy thing.”  
  
“Oh.  I thought maybe you got caller ID.”  There was a hint of a tease in his voice, but Willow wasn’t in a playful mood.  
  
“What do you want, Xander?”  Her exasperation was clearly audible, even to Xander.  
  
“Geez, Wills, you could be less happy to hear from me you know.”  Slight hurt came over clearly despite the phone line and Willow winced a bit.  She was being a little too mean to him.  
  
“Sorry, Xand.  Have a bit of a headache.  Not feeling so chipper.”  Sitting up now, Willow twirled the phone cord around her fingers, “So what’s up?”  
  
“Dunno if anyone’s called to tell you, but Angelus is on the loose and possibly on his way to Sunnydale.”  Willow’s entire body stiffened, every nerve on alert.  
  
“What happened?”  Willow’s voice was eager, impatient for Xander’s explanation.  
  
As he launched into what happened, Willow sort of turned him out, the beginnings of a plan formulating in her head.  _Angelus is back.  I’m the only one with the restoration spell,  and . . . he’s going to come looking for me.  He’s going to try and kill me._  
  
“Xand?  Does anyone have an idea if he’s coming here soon?”  
  
“I haven’t talked to Buffy since last night.”  Not wanting to tell Willow about what had happened between him and Anya, he focused instead on something else that bothered him enormously.  “Wills?  Are you sure you did this spell to bring Buffy back correctly?  She’s all on board with the Spike is good train and I don’t get it – unless it’s some spell you  did that went all wonky.”  
  
Willow’s anger coiled and wound through her, rattling the edges of her nerves.  The snap in her voice got his attention though, penetrating his usually slow wits.  “No, Xander.  That’s not me.  I didn’t make any mistakes.”  
  
“Okay.  No need to get all huffy with me.”  Xander’s voice held a trace of fear, though he knew Willow would never hurt him.  “Just thought you should know.”  
  
“Thanks, Xander.  Nice to know _someone_ is still my friend.”  The bitterness in her voice was clear and something Xander couldn’t let go unremarked.  
  
“C’mon, Wills, you know I’ll always be around.”    
  
“I know, Xander.”  
  
With a promise to meet him later at the Magic Shop, Willow hung up the phone, her mind running through numerous situations and scenarios.  _How to keep Angelus off my back with out becoming dinner?  
_  
Focusing a bit, Willow held out her hand, willing a small ball of sunshine into existence.  Not satisfied with that, she breathed out some Latin, changing the sunlight to flame, watching it dance across her hand.  Closing her hand into a fist, Willow smiled slightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Spandau Ballet, (the song is Communication)


	19. Knowledge is power.

_**Book Two.  
  
Chapter 19.  Knowledge is power.  
  
A single conversation with a wise man is better than ten years of study.   
    Chinese Proverb  
  
You can discover what your enemy fears most   
by observing the means he uses to frighten you.   
    Eric Hoffer**_  
  
  
  
Wesley paced along the length of the small hangar, waiting for the plane carrying Rupert to debark.  His connecting flight from Los Angeles had arrived ten minutes ago and the passengers were about to . . .  _And here are the first ones now._  
  
He’d offered to get Rupert after Buffy had slightly balked when Spike had said the two of them would go.  It was clear to all of them but her that Spike was just about fully healed, even the bruises were gone, although Buffy wasn’t completely convinced.  
  
So that was how Wesley found himself waiting for Rupert.  It was also how he and Buffy had been patrolling along with the ridiculous Buffybot Spike had had commissioned.  
  
He couldn’t possibly imagine what Spike had been thinking. . . well, actually he could, which just made the entire situation quite funny.  Spike’s expression had been priceless when Buffy jeeringly referred to the thing as “ _Skirt girl_.”  
  
Tara and Dawn had collapsed in a fit of giggles while the vampire had just stalked from the room, imprecations falling from his lips.  
  
“Wesley?”  Giles’ voice broke into Wesley’s musings and he turned to greet the older man.    
  
“Hello, Rupert.  How was your flight?”  
  
“Thankfully uneventful.”  Giles searched Wesley’s face, noting the fatigue around his eyes.  “Not sleeping well?”  
  
“Hardly sleeping at all.  While Angelus has been quiet, we fear he’s solidifying his position by taking over already organized nests.”  Wesley paused as they shouldered past some travelers, then resumed talking once they were outside the airport.  “Spike is back on his feet, which is good news.  But no one’s heard from Willow.”  
  
Glancing sideways at his companion, Giles commented wryly, “Obviously not a good sign.”  
  
Without looking at his fellow Englishman, Wesley nodded.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Dawn was sitting on the floor of the living room, the television on, Connor on a blanket beside her, phone at her ear, chattering away with Casey, while Buffy was in the basement doing laundry.  Tara was off at late classes and Spike was upstairs when Wesley and Giles came through the door.  
  
Barely registering their presence, Dawn waved hello, going right back into her conversation.  Motioning Giles into the kitchen, Wesley offered hm a drink, explaining, “Dawn’s got a boyfriend.  She spends a fair amount of time attached to that thing.”  
  
Before Giles had a chance to comment, Buffy was in the kitchen, hugging him.  “Hey.  Welcome back.  How was dreary old London?”  
  
“Not so dreary.  Then again, I was hardly outside at all.  Spent most of my trip in the Council libraries, in fact.”  He tried maintaining a straight face, except that Buffy’s welcome was far too enthusiastic for him to remain stoic.  
  
“Right, go Giles with the researchy trip.  So.  You gonna tell us all the good stuff?”  Buffy reached around Giles, opening the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle after glancing up at the clock.  
  
“I thought perhaps I’d wait until everyone is assembled, rather than go over this numerous times.”  Giles watched her closely, noting that the gauntness and shadows that had clung to her seemed to be easing somewhat.  
  
“How are you doing?”  Giles wanted to know and it seemed like now was a good time to ask.  
  
Putting the bottle on the stove to warm, Buffy stole a glance toward Wesley, then shrugged.  Very softly she said, “I’m doing okay.  Was afraid for a little bit that I’d lose Spike and Dawn, but I’m okay.”  Smiling at him brightly, Buffy continued, “Not perky Buffy yet, though I’m working my way toward sometimes chipper.”  
  
Checking the bottle’s temperature, Buffy put it back into the nearly boiling water, smiled at Wesley, saying cryptically, “He’s a bit late. . . wonder why?”  
  
Wesley’s answering smile was a bit lopsided, although his response was equally cryptic.  “He’s been going a bit longer every time.”  
  
Just then an ear splitting wail rang through the house and two things happened at once – Dawn yelled “Buffy!” and thumping feet were heard on the stairs.  
  
Spike’s voice reached them.  “Niblet, instead of addin’ to the racket, pick up the sprog an’ bring him inside.”  
  
To which she replied, “ _I’m_ on the phone.”  
  
Which just caused the other two in the kitchen to laugh, though Giles failed to see the humor in any of it.  
  
Spike entered the kitchen with a caterwauling Connor cradled to his chest, a look of pure chagrin on his features.  ‘Kitten, tha’ girl needs to get of ‘er butt and take care of the sprog.”  
  
Realizing the kitchen was more occupied than he thought, Spike said, “Never mind.  We’ve the convention here already.  ‘Lo, Rupes.”   Handing off the infant to Buffy, Spike perched on the counter.  “How was the old sod?”  
  
“It was fine.  What I saw of it in any case.”  Giles realized that only Tara was missing from this group that he needed to update so he asked, “When will Tara be returning?”  
  
Spike answered, without taking his eyes away from where Buffy was cuddling Connor, “Not long.  ‘Bout half an hour at most.  Got lots to share, Watcher?”  
  
“I do and I’d rather do this once.”  He was tired and he wanted to get into his own bed and sleep until sometime late tomorrow morning.  
  
Wesley asked, “Is she coming home right after classes?”  
  
“Don’t rightly remember,” was Spike’s idle response, then he shook off his reverie.  “Think she an’ dogboy were supposed to be here for movie night.”  
  
“Dog boy?”  Giles looked between the other two Englishmen, clearly not understanding.  
  
“He means Oz.”  Buffy’s voice was laced with something Giles couldn’t quite pick up on, he thought it might be confusion, though he just discounted it as his own misreading of the entire conversation.  
  
“Oz and Tara are –  getting along?”  
  
Spike choked back a snorted laugh, saying, “S’right Watcher.  Go away for a bit an’ the whole soddin’ hellmouth goes a bit wonky.”  
  
At Giles’ completely baffled look, Spike and Wesley filled him in on all the details of what he’d missed while Buffy listened, feeding Connor.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Two days she’d been working diligently, relentlessly perfecting the spells and glamors she was going to need to protect herself from Angel.  She’d known as clearly as her own name, he was coming for her.  
  
No one else could perform the soul restoration.  No one else knew it.  She wasn’t going to do it.  Wasn’t even going to give the spell to Buffy so that someone else could try.  She also wasn’t going to wait while Angel played his stalker game.  _No.  Going to take control of the whole situation.  Maybe. . .  Angel will kill Spike and then I’ll take care of Angel – make him all poofy and everything will be like it should be.  I’ll have Tara back and Buffy will be my best friend again and life will be good.  Yeah.  That’s what I’m going to do._  
  
Mind firmly made up, Willow went back to studying the books strewn across her bed.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Dark blue eyes framed by inky black lashes surveyed the room, idly noting the broken porcelain bits and tattered lace littering the floor.  Dainty feet pirouetted round the room, snippets of songs bouncing off the blood splattered walls.  A delicate, deceptively fragile ivory hand cupped the cheek of her latest find, a luscious little girl wrapped in layers of silk and lace, then pulled back, leaving a line of crimson across one cheek.  
  
“Mmmmm.  Mummy likes that . . . lovely pretty ribbons of red dancing all about, curling round.”  A cool tongue licked a path from a puckered nipple upwards, pausing to nibble delicately at the throbbing pulse, lapping at the blood pooling in a hollow cheek.  “Lots of pretty ribbons for Mummy.  Does precious kitty want to play?”  
  
Sharpened nails slid down the mostly naked torso, tweaking already engorged nipples, then dipping lower, lower still.  The form beneath the questing hand was quiet, the only sounds gasping, panting breaths as cool blood-slick fingers slithered downwards.  Dipping two fingers into the warm pussy of her latest prize, Drusilla laughed softly as her toy’s hips raised up, the girl silently begging for more.  
  
“That’s it, little kitty cat, purr for Mummy.”  Sinking her fangs into the breast in front of her, Drusilla stilled, taking long gulps, then stilled again as she felt the silent pull, the feeling of . . . home. . . of Daddy. . .  It was not the first time she’d felt it, but this was by far the strongest; cocking her head to the side, Drusilla listened to the call of her Sire, a call only she could hear. . .   
  
Pistoning her fingers in the toy’s warm pussy, Drusilla growled her joy at the thrumming in her veins.  Ripping her mouth away, she cooed her delight, forgetting about the willing body beneath her hands.  “Daddy’s home, little pussy. . . pssssssss my little pussy shall be just for Daddy now.”  
  
Running her tongue over the bucking form of her latest human, Drusilla singsonged into the girl’s flesh.  “Daddy’s home. . . Daddy’s home. . . and he wants his little girl.”  
  
Watching now as her human bucked and writhed in orgasm, Drusilla smiled.  “Yes. . . little pussycat shall be Daddy’s prezzie.”  
                          
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy was changing Connor’s diaper, something Giles absolutely never envisioned his slayer doing;  Tara and Oz were clattering in the front door, yet his full attention was on the two figures on the floor.  Buffy was kneeling by the fireplace, Connor on his blanket and Buffy was actually, evidently happily, changing the infant’s nappy.  He shook his head, trying to come to terms with this vision.  He’d thought about waiting to give them his biggest discovery in private, but the sight in front of him had him so rattled that Giles just blurted it all out without thinking.  
  
“You aren’t the first, you know.  There have been other Slayers who had children.  It’s a rare occurrence, I’ll grant you that, yet it has happened.”   He paused when Buffy looked at him, her eyes calmly digesting this information.  Spike had stilled at the first sound of his voice, lowering the volume on the television, although gradually everyone present had focused on his words, each of them anxiously awaiting whatever else was about to escape from his lips.  
  
“The last slayer to have a child was actually pregnant when she was called.”  Remembering what had happened to her, Giles rushed on, “Although she wasn’t the first.  What is more remarkable were the others.”  
  
“What others?”  Buffy shared a look with Spike, knowing which slayer Giles had been referring to and why he’d nearly tripped over himself to skip the story of Spike and Nikki Wood.  
  
“The ones who managed to fall in . . . the ones who weren’t called but were identified as potentials and their fates.”  
  
Spike got up off the chair, going to stand beside where Buffy and Connor were, his hand unconsciously stroking her hair.  “Go on, Watcher, may as well finish it.”  
  
“The information regarding vampire pregnancies was fairly easily found, however my research did turn up an interesting fact I’m sure none of us considered.  The males are all of the same line.  They are all Aurelians.”  
  
Buffy’s hand reached up to clasp Spike’s and their fingers entwined, his thumb brushing across the back of her hand.  It was his voice that asked the question they were both thinking, “Why’m I gettin’ the feeling there’s more to this story?”  
  
“Because there is.”  Giles focused his full attention on the couple in front of him, fully aware what he was about to tell them could literally change their lives.  
  
“Six well documented cases of vampire pregnancies, all of them human girls with Aurelian  males.”  He ticked them off one by one on his fingers.   
  
 “Ariadne of Crete, died in 1137, had two children, one in 1138 and another in 1142;”  
  
“Amalie of the Franks, died 1222, had four children, 1224, 1226, 1227, and the last in 1230;”  
  
“Sorcha of Clan MacDonald, died in 1282, had three surviving children 1284, 1285, and 1286;”  
  
“Miriam of the City of Grenada, died 1301, one child 1303;”  
                                  
“Bryn of Rhuddlan, died in 1587, had two children born in 1588 and 1591; and the last recorded was Isabeau de la Fontaine, died 1622, one child in 1623.”  
  
The room was quiet, none of those present willing to make a sound.  Buffy couldn’t look at Spike, afraid of what emotions she would find on his features.  She could feel his eyes on her, could feel his tension in the stiffening of his muscles and before she could risk a glance upwards, Giles was speaking again.    
  
“It was Isabeau that lead me to the second part of this, the other half of this puzzle.  Isabeau was identified as a potential slayer in 1619.  She was never called.  Bryn was identified as a potential in 1585.  All the others I mentioned were identified within five years of their first deaths.”  
  
Spike was staring down at Buffy, willing her to look up at him, which she finally did when he unconsciously tugged on her hand.  The fierceness of the look in his eye coupled with the set of his jaw loosened the coils of fear that had settled in her belly.  Buffy smiled up at him and she watched as the ferocity grew.  
  
Heedless of the small drama being played out on the floor of the living room, Giles finally spoke again.  “The as of yet unrecorded vampire pregnancy took a bit more uncovering.  Darla and Angel.  Darla was turned by the Master – do you know when?”  At Spike’s shaken head, Giles said, “I believe it was 1609.  She was an indentured servant, actually working as a whore, just as the rumors implied.  If she is who I now believe her to be, she was born Darla Witherspoon, identified as a potential in 1602, who ran away from home when the Council attempted to approach her in England.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Willow was standing in the middle of Restfield, working on perfecting her ability to conjure fire out of thin air.  She’d been practicing outside now for about an hour, leaving the safety of her parents home when one of the curtains got singed.  
  
The fireball spell was proving trickier than she’d imagined, working well only about a third of the time.  The sunshine spell was fine, in fact was better than fine, as the vampire dust at her feet attested to.  Transmuting the energy from sunshine into flame wasn’t as easy, and for all of her hard work, Willow was no more accurate than when she first started.  
  
 _Why isn’t this working?  This should work without a hitch – so what’s the damn problem?_   Holding her palm open, Willow blew out a breath, breathing life into the invocation.  A tiny pulsing light bathed her pale features, casting almost noon-time shadows as it flittered above her head.  
  
Willow stared up at the light for long moments, contemplating the sight overhead and the nature of fire.  _Think, Willow . . . what is it that . . . sunlight – glass – dry leaves.  Is that?  No.  Too complicated and it’ll take too long.  Think.   Put your thinking cap on and work this darn thing out._  
  
“Sunlight to flame . . .”   Pacing back and forth, Willow started muttering chants beneath her breath, trying to come up with one that would be simple and effective – and fast.  “Sunlight to flame. . . sunlight to flame, never go out in rain.  Nope.  That’s just silly.  Flame, game, same, name, dame, claim, fame, tame. . . nothing fits.”  
  
A low laugh echoed off the marble surrounding her and Willow’s head snapped up, trying to pinpoint from which direction the sound originated.  
  
Glancing overhead, Willow uttered a single word – “Widen” and the area bathed in light enlarged.  
  
Casting a wary eye all around, Willow waited, instinctively knowing nothing excited Angelus quite the way fear did.  
  
Long minutes passed, or so it seemed, without either adversary speaking.  Willow crossed her arms over her chest, a bored expression drifting across her features, hiding her internal agitation well.  
  
She knew what he was trying to do.  He was trying to get her to panic, to leave the safety of the sunshine.  _Not gonna happen, big guy.  I’m way smarter than you – can so outplay your game right now._  
  
Angel was impressed.  _Little Red was all grown up, trying to play with her elders._   He could feel the power pulsing within her and he could also sense the deep well of anger nearly swallowing her.  She was . . . _magnificent.  Or she will be when she’d fully come into her power.  
  
Oh boyo, would ya look at that one.  She’s a bright dark one . . . an dorcha geal realta.  She’d make a right fine vampire._  He laughed again, for the joy of watching her and the thrill of chasing her.  
  
She’d expected him to laugh, yet strangely wasn’t fazed by his mirth at all.  Unlike before, when by now she would’ve been a babbling mess, Willow was determined to remain silent.    
  
“Well, well, well.  Look at how little Willow has grown.  Not scared of me either.  That’s such a shame.  I must be losing my touch.”  He paused, watching her try to pinpoint his location.  She aimed a small ball of sunshine at a spot, but he’d already moved from there.  
  
“That’s not very sporting now, is it?  And all this time I thought you liked me.  Was all that an act for Buffy’s sake?”  She launched another one at him, yet again, he’d moved before she could narrow down his position.  
  
“Not a very nice greeting for someone who came to town just to see you.  I was expecting something less hostile.  I mean really, Willow?  Where’s the love?”  
  
She was looking off to her left when she finally spotted him.  Angel was leaning against a crypt in a deceptively casual pose, his arms crossed as he leaned back, his ankles crossed as well, a slight smile playing on his face.  He was hidden just enough from the sunshine to ensure his safety and had waited patiently until Willow turned around.  
  
“Gotta say, I’m liking the new look.  Treading a bit on the dark side, aren’t you?”  
  
Willow arched a dark brow, holding her silence.  “So tell me, Willow – how come you’re out here all alone?  Buffy desert you?  Hmmm?”  
  
He paused, staring her down, willing her to say something, but she held her tongue.    
  
“Where’s your boy?”  He sniffed, inhaling deeply, his inhalation ending in a surprised spluttering laugh.  “Oh, ** _I’m_** sorry . . .  Should be asking where’s your **_girl_**.  Willow, I’m _surprised_ – an innocent girl like you?  What **_are_** the neighbors saying?”  
  
His grin got wider, watching as her composure started to crumble.  “So, Willow, don’t you just love the taste of a juicy wet pussy?  Just where is your girl?  Oooohhhh, is she the tasty one living with Buffy?  Wonder if she and Spike share?”  
  
Willow’s resolve wavered and she sent a ball of sunshine winging toward Angel, but he laughed, disappearing into a crypt before the light could hit him.  
  
His cruel and callous laughter echoed around the interior of the mausoleum, bouncing back at her from all sides, and its echo still rang in her ears as she raced home.  
             


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from Sir Francis Bacon (Religious Meditations, of Heresies)


	20. Wisdom lingers

_**Book Two.  
  
Chapter 20.  Wisdom lingers  
  
A little knowledge that acts   
is worth infinitely more than much   
knowledge that is idle.   
    Kahlil Gibran, In A Second Treasury of Kahlil Gibran  
  
Our most bitter enemies are our own kith and kin  
Kings have no brothers, no sons, no mother!   
    Honoré De Balzac, Catherine de Medici expliquée, Souverain **_  
  
  
  
  
Darla had been a potential.    
  
It explained so much about her, who she was, why she was so formidable, and why, years after she’d dusted, Darla’s actions and memory still haunted Buffy.   It also explained why the Master had turned her, why Angelus and the rest of them were so strong, why they rose to master vampire status so quickly.  Even poor Drusilla – _poor Drusilla?  Where the hell did that come from, Buffy?_   Buffy shook her head in askance at her own thoughts.  Even Drusilla must have benefitted from the infusion of potential slayer blood.    
  
Glancing up at Spike, she wondered just how much her blood affected him.  She knew it was powerful.  He’d said so more than once, but she wondered what the long term effects might be on him.  _Would he be stronger?  Would he be quicker to heal with regular infusions of her blood?_ Almost guessing the train of her thoughts by the expression on her face, Spike knelt down by her side, pulling her into his embrace.  His voice was a low hum in her ear, his words whispered so that only she could hear him.    
  
“Explains a lot now, what Rupert’s sayin’.  Never would’ve imagined it.  Darla always was a right bitch, and more powerful than she looked.  Downright scary sometimes.”    
  
Wesley was staring down at the baby, who was wriggling around on the blanket, Buffy’s hand covering his belly.  “So the boy has slayer and vampire strength in him.”  
  
Giles cleared his throat, preparing to speak, when Dawn’s voice broke through the heavy atmosphere.  “Buffy?  What does that mean?”    
  
 _Oh god.  Dawn._   Buffy looked at Spike, both of them realizing at that instant that not only was Connor the child of a Slayer and a vampire, but so was Dawn.  The panic in her voice was clear, at least to both of them, although no one else in the room caught the emotion.    
  
“Niblet?”  Spike’s gaze shifted to where she stood in the doorway, phone in hand and a concerned look on her face.  He could hear the buzzing of the disconnection from where he was and he got to his feet, walking toward her.  “C’mon, sweet bit, hang up the phone.”  
  
He took the phone from her, hanging it up on the receiver, leading her to the couch.  “Why don’t we let Giles tell us what it might mean before we all go off the deep end.”  
  
“I’m not sure what it means.  Most of the children were out of the Council’s – their fathers,” The former watcher faltered for a moment, then continued.  “It appears that the children were spirited away for their own safety.  One of the girls – Sorcha of Clan MacDonald – one of _her_ children, a boy by the name of Seamus was taken into custody by the Council.  He died while in the Council’s custody and both of his parents disappeared with their other children shortly after.”  
  
“There’s no records of what happened to the others.  They just simply disappeared and there were no details surrounding the rest of their lives.”  His comments were greeted with silence, Buffy and Spike lost in their own thoughts concerning both the children.  
  
Buffy lifted Connor off the floor, holding him against her breast.  Spike pivoted to face Giles, tension radiating off him in waves as he partially blocked Giles’ view of the two Summers girls.  
  
Giles, sensing the impending fight, raised his hands in an effort to calm Spike’s temper.  “Relax.  The Council has no knowledge of Connor’s existence – or his lineage.  And,” he added, “I felt no compelling need to enlighten them.  The baby should be safe for the time being.”  
  
“As safe as he can be with his insane father sniffing around.”  Dawn’s voice was laced with sarcasm and it was Wesley’s quietly spoken words that shocked them all.     
  
“Until we can eliminate the threat Angelus poses, hiding Connor might not be a bad idea.”  
  
“Eliminate?”  Tara questioned him while Buffy and Spike shared a long look.  
  
“One way or another we are going to have to deal with Angel.”  Giles responded to Tara’s question – his attention caught by the sight of his Slayer holding onto the baby while Spike looked down into her eyes.  
  
“Your decision, Pet.”  They both knew Spike’s carefully worded statement pertained to Dawn as well as Connor and that admitting it out loud was just going to just add to the confusion and turmoil of the moment.    
  
Buffy shook her head, refusing to think about letting either of them go.  “No.  Not now.  He’s still safe here with us.”  
  
The unspoken second half of that was Dawn would still be safer with them was clear, at least to Spike and his eyes only wavered from hers to glance briefly down at Dawn, who was watching their exchange very carefully.  He smiled at the teenager, then shifted his gaze back to the other Englishman.  “Right then, Rupes, what else have you got?”  
  
Giles motioned Spike to sit, himself moving to take the chair Spike had vacated earlier.  This next part was going to be tricky, Giles didn’t for once fool himself about that and he braced himself for the outcry and the outright refusal he was certain to encounter.  
  
“I did some additional research while I was in the Council’s library, following what happened with Dawn and the knights.”  Buffy sat down on the coffee table, angled toward Giles, while Wesley settled against the fireplace and the others found seats in various spots around the room, realizing this was going to be an involved discussion.  
  
“Spike’s injuries while protecting Dawn from the knights could have been avoided.”  Giles knew he was drawing this out, prolonging the moment – though he couldn’t for the life of him just open this up for discussion, without some sort of introduction.  
  
“Not bloody likely.  Got this hardware that prevents certain actions.”  Spike’s tone of voice, and his words, cut through the room, and Giles had his opening.  
  
Throwing a somewhat grateful gaze in his direction, one he hoped Spike didn’t incorrectly interpret, Giles said, “Well, yes, that is true.  So now I believe it’s time to discuss the chip and its removal.”  
  
Instead of the upheaval and outrage he fully expected and had doubly prepared himself for, his statement was greeted with complete and utter silence.  So much so that the only noise was Connor’s quick inhalations and the ticking of the clock on the wall.  No one moved and no one spoke.    
  
Time crept forward slowly as Giles waited for the hue and cry of denials that never came.  His gaze moved from Spike’s still figure standing in the middle of the room to Buffy’s seated form.  Dawn had shifted forward, as did Wesley, but like Tara and Oz, neither spoke.  There was a quiet giggle, and Giles looked about for the source, when it was joined by another low chuckle and all eyes were riveted on the blond couple.  Buffy looked up at Spike, who turned to face her, amusement playing about his lips and her stifled giggle broke into a full laugh.    
  
Misinterpreting the reason behind Buffy’s laughter, Giles attempted to interrupt her, but it proved impossible as she sank further into mirth.    
  
Finally, after long minutes of relieved glee, Spike’s voice finally broke through enough to calm everyone else’s growing concern.  “Thought we were goin’ to have a hell of a time tryin’ to convince _you_.”      
  
He chuckled again, looking toward the love of his entire existence and smiled at her wide grin.  She opened her mouth to speak and another series of giggles erupted.  “Spike thought you would be the one to object.”  
  
Giles trained his eyes on both of them, his senses suddenly alert.  “You’ve talked about this?”  
  
“Just Spike and I.  Kinda wanted to wait until you were back.  Except I sort of made up my mind while Spike was still out of it.”  Buffy’s voice was steady, no hesitation or doubt present.  
  
Spike braced himself for the arguments from the others in the room, and although he hoped there’d be none, he expected more than a token resistance to their decision.  
  
“Have . . . have  you decided how?”  Tara’s voice broke the silence – and, it seemed, everyone’s reluctance to speak, because Wesley then asked, “Is removal even possible?”   
  
Dawn’s comment was, “About time the stupid thing came out.  Stupid thing to do to a vampire anyway.  What were they trying to do?  Create some controllable demon army?”  
  
“Bit?  That’s exactly what they were plannin’.”  Spike addressed her comments first, while Buffy fielded the others.  
  
“Not sure if it can be removed, but we need to find out.  Tara?  Do you think you and Giles could check out magical means?  We have a couple of options – either the Initiative or demon-friendly surgeons.”  
  
“There’s always Dr. Thomas.  He might be able to help.”  Oz’ quiet voice drew Spike’s attention.  
  
“Who’s that?”    
  
“He’s the dude that fixed you up.  Works at Sunnydale Memorial.”  Oz leaned forward a little bit, his gaze intent on the vampire.  
  
Giles surged to his feet, heading for his carry-on bag.  “I brought a list of surgeons.  I’m not certain he’s on it.”  
  
“Might not be listed in Sunnydale.  He’s from Pennsylvania originally.  Somewhere near Hershey Park, I think.”  
  
Wesley said, “There’s a fair number of demon-friendly medical personnel in Los Angeles also, if you want to travel.”  
  
“No.”  Spike’s one word answer was softened when he continued, “Don’t want Angelus catchin’ wind of this – so it has to happen here – can maybe hide one or two people comin’ into Sunnyhell, but me leavin’?  He’d know it quick enough.  ‘M not leavin’ town for this.”  
  
“Angelus?  What’s he got to do with this?”  Obviously there was something else he was missing, because Giles was suddenly confused.  
  
“He knows about the chip, and he would be just twisted enough to send humans after Spike.  Plus he knows Spike was injured.  What he doesn’t know is how or why – and he can’t know or find out the real truth about Dawn.”  There was a steely quality in Buffy’s last statement, almost as if she were warning the others.  
  
“So we are going to find a way to remove the chip before Angel realizes it’s happening.  And we’re going to confuse the hell out of him or at least try.”  Buffy looked toward Giles, realizing he’d been too quiet in his lack of objections.  “Giles?”  
  
“Hhmmm?”  Recognizing his distracted air had the feeling of disapproval, Giles shook himself.  “Perhaps then a ruse to keep him occupied would be in order.”  
  
“Huh?”  Buffy looked to Spike for a translation while Wesley capitalized on the thought, his own internal cogs shifting into motion.   
  
“The Buffybot.”  
  
“‘Splain.”  Was Buffy’s clipped command.    
  
“Angel knows about the chip.  Knows Spike is injured.  Do we know how closely he’s watching us?”  
  
“He tried being all stalkery guy again, but Tara saved the day.”  Buffy beamed over at her friend, a big smile on her face, to which Tara blushed in response.  “Oh! Giles  – we need an eternal source of power – got one handy?”  
  
“Of course, Buffy, I packed one in my bags.”  
  
It took a moment for Giles’ snarky comment to register, though when Dawn and Tara both giggled, it was all over and the room’s occupants all laughed.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Willow was seething.  Her anger and resentment were almost palpable, another presence pacing along side her.  She did not like this feeling.  Angelus had, despite all her efforts to the contrary, managed to get under her skin earlier in Restfield.  
  
He’d made her feel like stupid, powerless Willow and she really didn’t like that.  She was supposed to be the one in control; the cool-under-fire one who didn’t panic when the boogeyman came calling.  
  
All those words from him still stung, even though he hadn’t been that bad.  It had still shaken her.  The fact that he’d been able to creep up on her and get close caused a major case of the wiggins every time she really thought about it.    
  
The more she thought about it, the more she just got aggravated.  _And how come no one had called_   – well no one but Xander.  
  
 _Oh no, I am not going to let that nasty vampire get the better of me.  Nah huh._ With renewed determination Willow focused her energy on making the spontaneous flame spell work.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
He was really happy his other self had been so concerned about his humans that he’d insisted they all get cell phones.  Angel thought about calling Cordelia  but decided against it.  He’d call her later, give her time to think about where he was, how close he might be.  _Gunn?  No._ Not unless dear Freddie was with him. . .  _But no._   Angel realized he just really wanted to talk to his most trusted right-hand man.  Not since the Scourge had ranged about had there been anyone he trusted . . .   
  
Flipping open his phone, Angel hit the address book and dialed Wesley.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The laughter was slowly dying down when Wesley felt the vibration of his cell against his hip.  He reached for it, standing away from the wall, his attention divided between the room and the phone.  Glancing down at the display screen, he began motioning everyone to silence.    
  
Waiting just long enough for everyone to still, Wesley opened the phone.  “Angel.”  
  
“Aw.  That’s no fun peeking at the incoming number.  Had to know you’d be the smart one.”  There was amused disappointment in the vampire’s voice, almost as if he couldn’t complain about Wesley knowing who was on the other end, but wanting too in any case.  
  
“What is it you want?”  Spike had drifted closer, standing just to Wesley’s right, so that he could hear the entire exchange and the taller man shifted so that Spike wouldn’t have to strain so much.

   
“Want?  Gee, that’s such an open question.  I want lots of things.”  There was a slight pause, as if Angel were really contemplating what he wanted.  “I could say world peace, but really, that’s such a cliche, and so very far from the truth.”  
  
“Yes, well, your point is?”  Spike’s eyebrows rose in amusement, but he made no sound, waiting to hear what else Angel had to say.  
  
“Not really the tone you want to take with me.  If I want to talk, we’ll talk.”  There was now a harder edge to the vampire’s tone, one that Wesley wasn’t at all comfortable with.  “My point, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, is that I wanted to check in, catch up on all the news.  Find out how everyone is.”  
  
Wesley and Spike shared a look, both of them trying to hold onto their mirth.  Amazing how having someone else to listen to this relieved some of the fear.  Buffy got up from the table, leaning into Spike’s side while she tried to listen also.    
  
“Everyone’s fine.”  Spike shook his head in agreement, a smirk playing on his features.  
  
“Really?  That’s so nice to hear.  So tell me, has the infant sported fangs yet?”    
  
“No.”  Wesley was determined to not give Angelus any more information than absolutely necessary, giving him as little to go on as possible.   
  
“No?  Would’ve thought the boy would do that right away.  Oh well, he’ll have them soon enough.”  Buffy flinched and Spike pulled her and the baby closer, placing a silent kiss on the top of her head.  

  
“Really, Wes, the object of a cell phone is communication.  So, please, communicate. I’m all ears.”  

There was an edge of irritation creeping into Angel’s voice and Spike’s smirk started to bloom into a grin, when Wesley just stated simply, “I’m not really all that chatty, you know.  Prefer to keep to myself.”  
  
It took nearly all his will power not to laugh into the phone, though the looks that everyone around him were sporting was enough to send him over the edge.  _Really, what did Angel think he was dealing with?  A bunch of easily scared teenaged girls?_   Intimidating phone calls might work if one of them was alone; but in this house, surrounded by a group of people, all of whom were either of supernatural origin or in their own way capable of battling one or two demons without any assistance. . . this tactic, of using a phone call, did not work. It was actually more of an annoyance.  Wesley shook his head, not really sure he was really believing this.  “Angel?  Are we done here?  I have things to do.”  
  
“For now, Wesley.”  
  
And the phone disconnected.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Angel stared at the walls of the mansion, feeling distinctly dissatisfied and very perturbed.  It shouldn’t have gone that way.  Wesley should have been more on guard, more worried; shouldn’t have been flippant.  _I suppose he feels all safe and sound inside the Slayer’s house.  But everyone has to move out of that safety sooner or later.  And that’s when I’ll have you.  All of you.  
_  
Fooling himself into believing that the Slayer’s people would be easy targets, Angel discounted their combined strengths, knowing as he did, that divided they would all fall.  Like dominos. . .   
            


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Alfred Lord Tennyson, Locksley Hall


	21. An unhurried sense of time.

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter 21.  An unhurried sense of time.  
      
  
Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.   
    Douglas Adams   
  
We've erased a lot of the distinctions between night and day,   
between weekday and weekend.   
Our notions of time and space are collapsing.    
    Susan Orlean, Saturday Night in America**_  
  
  
On Saturday, when Giles had been home for a couple of days, Spike showed up alone at the Magic Box, with a couple of books in hand and something obviously on his mind.  It was fairly early for him to be up and around, which indicated something of importance.  He’d come in through the tunnels, using the fairly busy underground routes in and around Sunnydale.  The girls  were meeting him here later, after they did some shopping.  Buffy knew he was going to tell Giles about Dawn, and they’d told Dawn together what Spike was planning.    
  
Giles was, for once, alone in the shop, Anya giving him the flimsy excuse of needing some girl time to herself and requesting the day off.  He’d obliged, noting that something was bothering the girl, but secure that when she felt up to it, she’d no doubt tell them all what was on her mind.    
  
“Rupert.”  Spike rarely used given names in proper forms and when he did, the person always knew there was something important about to be said.  “Niblet got into your flat when you were gone.  Took some of the books Oxford brought.”  He placed the set of four on the table, laying the smallest on the top.  “She read them.  Searchin’ out how she got here.”  
  
The older man walked around the counter toward the books.  “What did she find?”  
  
Expelling air in a deep sigh, Spike sat down with his arms across the back of chair, unsure how to just say this.  “She found out who she is.”  
  
“What?  Spike, what do you mean she found out who she is?”  Giles was confused.  “Just tell me.”    
After their talk the other day, when Dawn had slipped and told them, Spike had asked her for the journal so that he and Buffy could go over it.  She’d given it to them and they’d read the thing together, picking up things that Dawn had missed, instances that she wouldn’t have known about.    
Spike gestured toward the smallest journal.  “Need to read that one, Rupert.  Should answer all your questions.”  
  
Not wanting to wait, Rupert asked him again.  “What’s in it?”   
  
“Jus’ read the bloody thing.  Answers are all in there.”  Done with his questions, Spike got up and went back downstairs to start filling mail orders.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Two and a half hours later, Giles closed the journal and wiped his eyes, answers to nearly all his questions regarding the Key filling his head.  The journal also supplied a few other answers, unfortunately those answers were for questions Giles had never bothered to pose before.  He’d known, after they destroyed the Sunnydale branch of The Initiative, that human and demon experimentation had been an ongoing practice in the labs.  He’d known and hadn’t once thought that samples might have been taken from either Spike or Buffy.  Hadn’t even thought to look for them in the aftermath.    
  
Giles was now faced with the truth that it wouldn’t have mattered even if he had thought to go back; however, he was also realizing that somewhere, someone had the samples that hadn’t been destroyed.  Sometime in the future, some bizarre hybrid like Adam could be reconstructed from those samples.  He stared off, not really seeing his surroundings, instead letting his mind drift back nearly two years.  Defeating Adam and the Initiative had taken the combined strengths of all of them, and at the end, even Spike had been of some assistance.  There was no telling what they might face in the future, what madman could possibly dream up with the samples.  It almost didn’t bear contemplating.  
  
His supposition about the monks had been correct, which in hindsight was of little comfort.  They had been capable of manipulating energy with far greater skill than he’d ever seen or encountered and it appeared they were not originally part of this dimension.  However, the vessel they used to house the Key was something else entirely.  The vessel was purely human – as much as the child of any vampire and slayer could be – and although she had been manufactured – she was most definitely the child of Buffy and Spike.    
  
Which explained so much.  The irony of the situation was that all summer, Spike had stayed to protect Buffy’s sister, never once imagining Dawn was something more.  That Spike harbored feelings for Dawn and they were reciprocated was never a question, at least in his mind.  Now the information in the journal was doubly important, though Giles doubted any of them but him were aware of that fact.  If the child of a slayer and a vampire was strong enough to house an eternal elemental energy, there’s no telling what else that child or other children were capable of, what other strengths they would exhibit.  
  
The coming months with Connor were going to be enlightening ones.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
It was domestic and very coupley of them; something Buffy had never done with any of her other boyfriends, but everyone else was out doing their own thing and well, they needed to do some shopping.  The house was dangerously low on groceries.  At least they had money to do the shopping with, because Giles had come through in a big way.  
  
Unbeknownst to her, Giles had gone to the Council asking them for some financial support for their only active slayer.  Citing the need for her to maintain her own household, since she had a dependent sister, Giles had pretty much effectively blackmailed the Council into providing housing expenses and incidentals.  The Council had, in typical fashion, asked for concessions from Giles on her behalf and he’d resisted, refusing to budge on his position of requesting the necessary funds.  While the Council had conceded the need for separate households, and understanding that the sister in question was not just another teenager; so they’d made arrangements for the payment, in full, of the mortgage that was still outstanding.  All other household expenses, including the electricity and water bills, would be paid monthly out of an account Giles would manage.  Anything else that was needed would have to be supplied by the Slayer herself.  
  
So here they were, in the supermarket, she and Spike with the baby, shopping.  Picking out foods.  Buying diapers.  Getting formula.  Doing stuff she never ever thought she’d be doing, with probably the last person she’d ever thought to be doing all those things.  But it was fun.  Spike had a weird way of making everything easy.  He was tossing boxes of pasta in the cart, while Buffy held the baby, dragging the cart behind him, grumbling all the while good-naturedly about how this was ruining his image.    
  
Connor was resting against her shoulder and Buffy tried to reach for a jar of sauce that was over her head and she nearly brought down the whole display on top of the two of them.  A little old lady who was in the aisle with them gasped, drawing Spike’s attention and he was there, holding the jars up, before any of them could fall.   He got them back up on the shelf, then shifted his attention to her.  He was all set to yell, but the look on her face stopped him short, so instead he gathered her into his arms, holding them both close.    
      
“All right, sunshine?”  He kissed her forehead, his hand cupping Connor’s head as he let her lean into his chest.    
  
“Yeah.  I think so.”  She was shaking and he could feel it, so he knew she wasn’t really okay.    
  
“How’s m’sprog?”  Spike lifted the baby up onto his shoulder, wrapping his arm around Buffy.  She was overreacting and they both knew it, though he wasn’t going to mention it.  And they both knew it was because of the baby.    
  
Neither of them was paying attention to anything around them until the old lady whose gasp had alerted Spike patted Buffy on the back.  “It’s okay, dear.  First babies take a bit of getting used to.  You’ll learn.”  
  
Buffy lifted her head to gaze into the kind face and sniffled.  “I’m not used to this.”  
  
“Nothing to worry about, dear.  You and your husband will find your way.”  She smiled at the two of them, patting Buffy again, then laid her hand on Connor’s back.  “It’s a boy, yes?  I’m sure he’ll grow up big and strong, just like his daddy, here.  Congratulations and good luck.”  
  
With that, the little old lady walked away, though not before winking at Spike.    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Cordelia was sitting on a lounge chair, listening to the waves break gently on the Mexican shore when the buzzing of her cell phone interrupted.  Grumbling half-heartedly, she flipped open the phone without looking at the incoming number.  
  
“Hello, Cordy.  How’s my favorite girl?”  
  
His voice sent shivers down her spine and she didn’t speak, almost didn’t breathe.  
  
“C’mon,  Cordy, don’t forget to breathe.”  The false sincerity in his tone was her undoing and she gasped in a few quick puffs of air.  
  
Listening to her strangled gasps, Angel chuckled.  “You know what’s great about cell phones?  You never really know where the other person is calling you from.”  
  
Despite the fact she knew he couldn’t be that close, since the nearest shelter was five hundred feet behind her, Cordelia whirled around, looking for him.  
  
“Know what else is great about cell phones?”  He paused, waiting for his question to sink in.  “You can track them.”  He laughed then, the sound going right through her.  
  
The connection ended and Cordelia was left staring wild-eyed all around her, goosebumps erupting all over her skin.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Tara had gone on a date, with someone Oz had introduced her to and that was slightly weird, at least to Buffy.  Spike was out playing poker and she was kind of at loose ends, although Connor was a handful.  He was on the floor, playing with the toys everyone kept buying him whenever they went out, while she folded laundry.  _I am domestic Buffy.  Go me._   She smiled a little, wondering when she’d become a mom and how it didn’t give her such a weird feeling.    
  
Connor was a sweet baby, as long as he wasn’t howling to be fed, and he was generally quiet.  When the clothes were all folded Buffy watched Connor for a minute, as his plump little fist waved around the rattle.  _Aren’t babies his age supposed to just lay there and do nothing?_   According to the book Wesley had gotten – _What to Expect the First Year_ – Connor wasn’t supposed to be moving or doing anything other than sleeping and eating.  Instead he wriggled around and held things, grabbed at all sorts of stuff they waved in his face; he recognized them all too.  He knew whenever Spike was in the room, sometimes crying until the vampire caved and picked him up, reacting whenever he heard Spike’s voice.  Thinking for a moment, Buffy decided to try something.  Very softly she called out his name, watching him as he stilled.  She did it again and it was very clear that he heard her.  The third time, he was struggling to move in her direction.  
  
Buffy got up, walked a bit toward the front door and called him again.  His arms and legs went crazy, flailing as he sensed she’d moved further away from him.  She could see his face screw up into a bit of a scowl, which was adorable on his tiny features.  Buffy moved  closer and called his name.  If a baby could snap his head up and look directly at someone, Connor did.  Buffy called his name a third time and his little legs pumped up in the air like he was trying to run to her.  Buffy laughed and Connor did it again.  Dropping down to her knees, scooting over to him, she leaned down and nuzzled him.    
  
“How’s my big boy?”  Play nibbling on him, she blew raspberries onto his cheek and when Connor grabbed at her, Buffy cooed at him, “There’s my baby.”  
  
“No.  He’s not yours.  Projecting much?”  Dawn’s voice came at her from the kitchen and Buffy looked up into the angry eyes of her sister.  _No.  She’s not my sister.  That’s my daughter._  
  
“Hey, Dawnie.  How was the movie?”  Not realizing Dawn was brewing for a fight, Buffy went right back to the baby without waiting for her answer.  
  
“He’s not yours, you know.  Not really.”  Finally Buffy heard the words Dawn was saying and she picked up her head to look at her.   
  
“Dawn?  I know that.  I’m just playing with him.”  Dawn made a face and Buffy waited for the outburst.  
  
“But he’s not yours.”  _Oh, okay, that’s what’s bothering her._  
  
Leaving the baby where he was, Buffy got to her feet, walking closer to Dawn.  “I know who his parents are, Dawnie.  But it’s not fair to him to treat him like he’s unwanted.  He didn’t ask for any of this.”  
  
Dawn looked away, a set look on her features, “He’s still not your baby.”  
  
“No.  He’s not.”  Buffy reached for her, pulling Dawn’s chin so that the teen had to look at her.  “I don’t pretend that he’s mine either.”  
  
Dawn’s eyebrow raised and her hip thrust out and _oh boy does she look like her father right now_ , and Buffy could see Spike in her so clearly and she was just watching her not really hearing the words her sis. . . _daughter_ was speaking.  “You sure about that?”  
  
“Am I sure about what?”  Buffy was confused.  
  
“God, are you even listening to me?  Do you even know I’m here?”  Dawn’s voice rose in volume, climbing toward ear-splitting levels.    
  
“I know you’re here.  Dawnie, why would I pretend that he’s mine?”  Refusing to let her pull away, Buffy wrapped her hand around Dawn’s wrist.  Dawn tried pulling away, but Buffy held on.    
  
“Why wouldn’t you?  It’s Angel’s baby. . . isn’t that what you’ve _always_ wanted?”   There was real sarcasm in her tone and Buffy though perhaps Dawn’s reaction was partially for herself and partially for Spike.  _Does she think that I’m doing this because Connor is Angel’s?_   Knowing that she’d already had this discussion with Spike and he knew how she felt, though no one else did, Buffy quickly realized that everyone might be thinking the same thing.  
  
“No.  I don’t want his baby.  Honestly?  I don’t want anything to do with him.”  Buffy looked  into Dawn’s eyes, trying to make her understand.  “I’m so over Angel.”    
  
Big tears sprung into Dawn’s eyes and Buffy pulled her close.   “What’s really wrong?”  
  
“Nothing.”  Her jaw clenched and she pushed away from Buffy.    
  
“Dawnie.  Something’s bugging you.  So dish.”  Buffy grabbed Dawn’s hand and dragged her over to where Connor was on the floor.  She sat down, then looked up at the teen and said, “C’mon, sweetie, sit down here with me.”  
  
“It’s just, you know, I see you with him and it seems like all you want is to take care of him and you know, what about Spike?  And what’s with the baby?  I mean I thought you didn’t want . . . you never said you wanted babies and now all of a sudden Angel’s baby is here and now you’re all _oohh baby_ and _aww_ and how come. . . it’s just not fair.”    
  
Buffy hid her smile, because Dawn hadn’t breathed through any of that halting explanation, which didn’t even make much sense at all.  The last words struck a chord, though, so Buffy focused on them.  “What’s not fair?”  
  
Finally breaking down, Dawn choked out, “Because he gets to be a baby and I . . . I don’t.  All my memories about that are false.  None of them are real and it would have been . . .”  
  
 _Oh.  That’s what’s this was all about._   “It would have been different if at least part of them were real?”  Buffy wasn’t sure what Dawn was getting at, or really trying to say other than she wished she’d been given memories of growing up with her real parents.  
  
Dawn wiped her eyes, not looking at Buffy.  “Yeah.  If, you know, the monks had planted memories of you and me and Spike as, you know, what we really are.”    
  
“Would’ve been way complicated, don’t you think?”  Buffy thought about it for a moment, then blurted out, “Couldn’t you just picture the look on Giles’ face?  He’d have headed right for the books.”  
  
Dawn let out a watery giggle.  “What would’ve been even funnier would have been Xander’s reaction.”    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Patrolling with the Buffybot was enough to drive him round the bend.  Spike was not looking forward to being out there, trailing after the robotic image of his love, but they had all decided that one of them should be home at all times with the baby.  Connor was thriving, had grown like a weed in the last two weeks, and was constantly wriggling around; doing things a normal infant didn’t do until much later.  Things at the house had settled down also, Wesley had moved out to join Giles at his flat, since sleeping on the couch was decidedly uncomfortable and Buffy and Spike were contemplating a move into Joyce’s old room.    
  
It was nearly time to get out there and patrol, and since it was his night to go, he was restless and pacing around like a panther without enough room to roam.  Spike was also missing Buffy, since sleeping with an insatiable infant wasn’t his idea of fun.  Probably as a side effect of his growth spurts, Connor was still eating every couple of hours, which left their sex life suffering.  Not that Spike minded, well, he did, but the spawn came first, much as he hated admitting it.  He didn’t care as long as the sprog didn’t yowl at the top of his lungs in the ear splitting howl he seemed to have perfected whenever his belly wasn’t full.    
  
There were moments too, when Buffy couldn’t soothe the boy and only Spike’s touch would settle him down.  His theory was that the infant was used to the lack of a heartbeat and it in some way comforted him to be held by Spike.  So there were long nights when he and the sprog were up and everyone else was asleep.  Spike realized how funny it was when he was up late, the television on and he found himself with the infant in his arms and he was talking out loud to the baby.  It had been the most surreal moment of his un-life; William the Bloody, the Slayer of Slayers, watching late night infomercials with a two week old infant in his arms, one he had no intentions ever of harming.  It was enough to cause him a serious case of, as Dawn or Buffy would put it, the wiggins.    
  
Everyone was gathered in the Magic Box; Giles, Wesley, and Anya arguing over some obscure point of demonology, Buffy was holding Connor and making faces and noises at him, Oz was hanging out by the front door, waiting for Tara to come back from classes, and Dawn was also due to arrive in any minute.  But he was restless.  There was an itch along his spine that no amount of scratching would alleviate.  He couldn’t shake the feeling; it was like a hum just beneath his skin, a nagging sense of some impending disaster.  
  
He snorted mentally, ticking off the number of things that could explode in their faces.  The Huntsman and the hounds had effectively stopped hunting the innocent or nearly innocent; Willow had drifted in and out of their lives, meeting here and there, accidently running into Tara, who still put her off about having a real discussion and then there was Angelus.  That at the moment was his biggest worry.  Angelus had been too quiet in the last couple of weeks, leaving only subtle reminders of his presence.    
  
The scariest moment for the girls had been when he’d tailed Tara home just a couple of nights ago.  Although  that was nothing, really, in the scheme of things.  Spike knew Angelus better than any one else, and he knew this was all part of the game, lulling them all into a sense of security and then he would strike.  And strike hard.  
  
He stopped pacing, turning on his heel to watch Buffy, his head cocked to the side.  She was not classically beautiful, not like some other women he’d known, there was too much character in her face for that, but there was a beauty all the same.  A smile traced across his face, as he stood just watching her.  He was completely unaware his actions had garnered his own audience.  Anya nudged Giles, who was standing behind her, pointing her chin in their direction.  
  
Spike was standing on the upper level of the store, his eyes trained on Buffy and the baby, an expression on his face Giles had never seen before.  The soft lighting of the area at the table complimented Buffy though it was also clear it wouldn’t matter what light she was bathed in, because it was obvious in Spike’s eyes Buffy was everything.  Anya sighed softly and Giles glanced down at her, catching the sadly wistful look in her eyes.    
  
Anya had been unusually and uncharacteristically quiet since the arrival of Wesley and Connor.  There were times he wanted to question her about why, and he’d heard from Wesley about the incident when Xander had frightened her, so he was fairly certain the reason behind her introspection.  Even before his successful trip to England, Giles had begun to notice a rift between the former demon and her boyfriend, however  he’d chosen to stay out of their situation.  Though  the sadness in her eyes as she watched Spike eyeing Buffy called to him.    
  
Giles laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently, silently lending her some support.  Spike moved, breaking the spell they were all under, leaning down to say something only Buffy could hear and Giles made a snap decision.  Buffy’s face lit up, her eyes glowing as Spike’s hand reached out to ghost along her cheek and she leaned into his touch.  Watching the two of them, Giles knew he had to do what the crazy notion in his head was telling him to do.    
  
Once more Spike leaned down, whispering something into Buffy’s ear that caused her to blush hotly and swat his arm.  The leer on Spike’s face left no illusions about what he’d said or what was on his mind yet somehow that didn’t really bother Giles.    
  
“Buffy?  Why don’t you go with Spike tonight?” Glancing down at the woman standing next to him, Giles continued, “Anya and I will stay with the baby.”    
  
With a quick glance up at Spike, Buffy asked, “You sure?  You don’t mind?”    
  
“No.  I don’t, but, well, I didn’t exactly. . .” He hemmed and hawed so much that Anya finally came to his rescue, announcing, “I don’t mind.  I’ve nothing else to do.”  
  
“There.  It’s all settled.  You and Spike go patrol and we’ll sit with the baby.”    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Wesley was heading to Los Angeles – in the quest for a demon-friendly surgeon they’d run up against a brick wall.  Dr. Thomas wasn’t a neurologist, was in fact an orthopedist whose first choice in medicine had been obstetrics and the only other demon-friendly surgeon in Sunnydale was another obstetrician.  Two others they’d contacted had refused, so Wesley had volunteered to try and get his contact at Wolfram & Hart to give up more information.  The good news was they now had x-rays of Spike’s head, so that Wesley could use those to show them what the situation was.  
  
Giles had privately told Wesley that it appeared they were going to have to contact The Initiative, which everyone had agreed was a last resort.  
  
He was leaving as Dawn and Casey trooped in the door; his meeting with Lilah Morgan scheduled for nine.  Dawn watched him go, a question in her eyes, though because Casey was present she never voiced it.  
  
Anya’s greeting was subdued and Dawn knew there was something bothering the ex-demon yet she was in the dark about that too.  She was beginning to think that no one trusted her at all, especially when Buffy said, “Dawnie?  Giles and Anya are gonna stay home and babysit tonight.”  
  
“I don’t need one.”  She very nearly stamped her foot, stopping when she realized how very childish that would be.  
  
“Not for you – for Connor.”  Buffy rolled her eyes.    
  
“Oh.”  Shrugging her shoulders, Dawn said, “Okay then.”  She thought for a moment, realizing Buffy was supposed to be home that night and Spike was supposed to patrol with the Buffybot.  “Where are you going?”  
  
“Out with Spike.”  
  
They’d told Casey that Connor was Spike’s nephew, and that his mother had been badly injured in an accident and wasn’t going to recover.  Since Spike was her only family, he got custody because the baby’s father was a jerk and in jail.  The story wasn’t entirely off the mark and easily explained why Buffy and Spike had the baby.  
  
“You kids have fun.”  Dawn giggled when she realized Spike was tugging her sister toward the door, his impatience evident.  “Gee, Spike, you’re not gonna wait until full dark?”  
  
His “No” was said as the door was closing behind them.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
So far, patrol had been a huge bust, pretty much the way it had been since Angelus had come back into town.  It was so dead in fact, that Spike was beginning to question why they were even bothering anymore, because even the humans seemed to have noticed.  There were more people on the streets than he remembered seeing in a long time, and Spike looked over at Buffy, who was walking to his right, a somewhat distracted air about her.  
  
“How come everyone’s out and about?”  He was bored and if something didn’t show up soon, the itching along his spine was going to drive him around the bend.  
  
“Thanksgiving is next weekend.”  Buffy scrunched up her face, thinking about the holiday.  ‘First one without Mom.”  She sighed.  “I guess I’m gonna have to figure out how to not ruin a turkey and learn how to make a decent pie.”  
  
“Seem to remember that last one wasn’t so bad.”  He swung around to watch her, walking backwards.  
  
“Please, that turkey was overcooked and the only thing that came out perfectly were the mashed potatoes.  Everything else was bad.”  She made a face at him, more than willing to admit she wasn’t up for cooking an entire Thanksgiving meal.  
  
“Ah, sunshine, you were also fighin’ a whole tribe of mystical Chumash that day.”  
          
He paused searching his memory.  “Yours truly was tied up and unable to help, Red was going on about exploitin’ the natives an’ the whelp ended up all sickly.  It’s a wonder anythin’ turned out well.”  
  
She stared at him, looking for any sign of sarcasm.  When she found none, Buffy nodded.  “There was a lot going on.  I don’t remember, though, why it was so important that everything turn out perfectly.  It was only us, the only new one was you.”  
  
Spike stopped walking.  His eyes were on her and Buffy couldn’t fight the blush that bloomed across her cheeks.  Dark blue eyes bore into hers and she didn’t want to blurt something out that would further embarrass her.  
  
“So the only thing different was me.”  He reached out to touch her chin.  Deciding to leave that one alone, he thought about the time he’d spent with Giles.  Knowing she’d never share her real feelings unless he was up front about it first, Spike whispered gruffly, “Never did thank Red for that spell.”  
  
“Thank her?”  Buffy looked up at that, her eyes fixed on him.  “Why’d do you wanna do that?”  
  
“She gave me somethin’ I’d wanted.”  He paused, watching as what he was saying registered.  “Didn’t wanna admit it then, but yeah, I wanted you.”  
  
The truth was there, easily broadcast by his eyes on her.  “Spike?  Promise you won’t laugh?”  
  
“Won’t laugh.”  He kissed her forehead, waiting for her to speak.  
  
“I thought you were the best kisser in the world.”    
  
His smirk was back and he swaggered, then swooped back to tug her along.  “Would’ve shagged you senseless if it had gone on longer.  Then Cardboard wouldn’t have been around.”  
  
Thoroughly surprising him, Buffy said, “I was trying to be normal.  Riley was normal.”  
  
Spike snorted out something too low for Buffy to make out, turning an innocent look on her.   “Nah huh, Spike tell me.”  
  
“All right.  Should’ve . . . just. . . dunno.  Soldier boy got off on the pain.  Liked bein’ miserable.”  He ducked his head, not looking at her, aware that this was a potentially dangerous subject for them to be discussing, but as usual, his mouth was moving before he realized it.  “Didn’t like not bein’ the strong one.  Tried to make you feel like you weren’t good enough.”  
  
Buffy was quiet for so long he thought she was building up for a good fight, but when he stole a glance at her, she was staring down at the ground, watching where they were walking.  In a very small voice, she said, “I guess I missed that.  I thought I needed normal.  Everyone said that . . . normal was what I was supposed to want.”  
  
He made some sort of grumbling noise, but she was speaking again, “Only one person ever saw me.  There was only one person that ever really got me.”    
  
“Oh?”  Half expecting her to say Willow or Angel, Spike was surprised when she flicked his arm.  “What’s that for?”  
  
“Yep.  Only one.”  She looked up at him, the soft moonlight playing across her features, her eyes dark and twinkling.  “Imagine that, a vampire understanding a Slayer.”    
  
Spike didn’t say anything, just watched her from under his lashes, waiting for her to speak.  “Angel never really understood me.  Did lots of things that . . .  He made decisions on what he thought was right.  But only . . . it was you.  You were the only one who got me.”  
  
Buffy stepped closer and his arms automatically curled around her.  Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and Spike grinned.  “I know you, Slayer.  That’s why.”  
  
She whispered back at him breathlessly.  “Yeah.  I guess you do.”    
  
He was about to lean down to kiss her when a voice came out of the shadows.  “Really, that’s just. . .  So sweet.”    
  
They broke apart, going into an anticipatory stance, their figures almost back to back, waiting for Angel to show himself.  He didn’t disappoint, emerging from behind a crypt, deceptively at ease.  “Nice night, moon’s shining down ever so softly, and two lovers are out for a stroll.  Makes a pretty picture.”  
  
Unconsciously they shifted, moving so that their dominant hands were on the outside, standing almost side by side.    
  
“You two are soo adorable together.  Just cuter than anything.  But I have to ask, who’s home with the baby?  Did you just leave the two kiddies alone?  Or is Willow’s girl there?  Hhmmm?”  Angel leaned back on his heels, his hands in his pants pockets.    
  
Neither one of them spoke and for once Spike held his tongue.  There must have been some change in his expression, because Angel started speaking again.  “You know, Spike, this won’t last.  She’s human and, well, fickle.  Can’t decide what she wants, can’t keep  a man.  You’ll get tired of her and leave.”  
  
Without warning, about ten or so of Angel’s minions jumped down from the tops of nearby crypts and they were surrounded.  Angel drifted off, knowing Buffy and Spike would make short work of the other vampires, uncaring of the losses.  _They’re cannon fodder anyway.  
_  
They were fighting, punching, and staking right and left, when suddenly Buffy realized she’d gotten separated from Spike.  Dusting the last of the minions she’d been battling, Buffy searched around looking for him.  Moving back toward where she last remembered seeing him, she didn’t start to panic until he wasn’t there, and there were only piles of dust scattered around.  Moving faster, she half ran toward his old crypt, her eyes sweeping over the grounds of Restfield.    Spying a dark spot and seeing something move in the shadows, Buffy set off in that direction, only to skid to a halt when she recognized what she was looking at.  It was Spike leaning over someone, talking and gesturing wildly.  
  
Buffy walked closer, then caught a glimpse of who Spike was talking to.  
  
It was Drusilla.  
  
  
  
  
                         


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Bonnie Franklin in the New York Times (An unhurried sense of time is in itself a form of wealth)


	22. Tender looks becoming habit.

_**Book Two.  
  
Chapter 22.   Tender looks becoming habit.   
  
  
At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.  
    Plato   
  
Love is something eternal, the aspect may change, but not the essence.  
    Vincent van Gogh   
  
To love and to be loved is to feel the sun from both sides.  
    David Viscott  
  
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,  
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.  
    A Midsummer Night’s Dream, act I, sc. I**_  
  
  
  
There was something interesting that happened to females when infants were introduced.  Even females that had never expressed an interest or desire or any other concern about children became enamored with infants.  The tinier the better it appeared.  Giles was fascinated by the entire process.  Buffy was constantly holding the boy, Dawn was usually eager to play with him, Tara was downright motherly and, lo and behold, even the former vengeance demon Anya was reduced to googly eyes and sotto voce behavior.  It thoroughly mystified him.  
  
And while he could admit the baby was kind of cute and appealing, he didn’t see the need to get all starry-eyed over his presence.  What was interesting and perhaps of some importance, at least in his opinion, was the boy’s development.  He reacted differently when certain people were around, and it appeared his sense of smell was acute, because whenever he smelled his bottle he howled piercingly until the bottle was put in his mouth.  It was a wonder Spike hadn’t purchased earplugs to block out the sound.   And it wasn’t crying.  It was _howling_.  
  
Like he was doing at the moment.  Anya was in the kitchen, fixing his bottle, while Giles tried to calm the infant.  His efforts were proving unsuccessful.  Connor was wriggling in his grasp, howling his displeasure to everything in the general vicinity, including dogs.  Giles almost wondered if there was more than vampiric blood shared between Dawn and Connor, because the pitch in each of their shrieks had to be identical.  
  
He was fumbling, awkwardly holding the baby up to his chest, trying to rub his back and pat him at the same time, while trying not to crumble to his knees because of the damage to his eardrums when Anya finally came back into the living room.  “Giles.  What are you doing?”  
  
“Apparently nothing.  Is that bottle done?”  The frustration in his voice was evident and he unceremoniously thrust the baby at her.  “Here.  You take him.”  
  
Anya cocked her head to the side, taking the baby and giving him the bottle all in the same motion, talking to the boy, making insane noises, though her words were directed at him.  “Silly Poppa Rupie. He doesn’t know how to take care of hungry little babies.  Such a silly old man.”  
  
Giles huffed a bit, once his brain registered what she was saying.  “Really, must you?”  He took off his glassed, peering at her intently.  “I’m not old.  Nor am I Poppa anything.”    
  
Anya laughed.  It was such a happy sound, one she hadn’t made in quite some time, and it made him smile in return.  She’d been so quiet lately, quite unlike her usual self, and it pleased him now to see her in a better frame of mind.  “Giles.  You need to lighten up and smile more.  Makes you look younger.”  
  
His retort of, “Well laughter suits you much better than brooding does,”  was out of his mouth before he could censor it, and the look on his face made tears well up in Anya’s eyes.  
  
“I haven’t had much reason to smile lately.  I just don’t understand.”  She looked away from him and he laid a hand on her arm, squeezing gently.  He remained silent, waiting for her to elaborate.  “If you love someone you shouldn’t say mean things.  And tell them to be quiet all the time, right?”    
  
“And your relationship shouldn’t be something to hide either.”  She looked up into his eyes, trying to find some enlightenment there.  “Am I thinking wrongly?  These emotions . . . sometimes I just don’t understand.”  
  
He was beginning to, understand that is.  So he told her.  “I think you aren’t wrong.  In fact, you’re quite right in believing that being in love shouldn’t be hidden.  It is something to celebrate.”    
  
“I used to think so.  But now I’m not so sure.  I think love hurts too much.”  Anya sat down on the couch in a huff, jarring the baby a bit.  
  
“Perhaps you’ve just gone about this all wrong.”  He stood in front of her watching her closely.  
  
“Why are you staring at me like that?”  Anya flushed and looked away from him.  
  
Rupert smiled slowly.  “Because I’m just now realizing that you’re an amazingly attractive woman.”  
  
Her gaze snapped up to his and he thought the blush blooming across her face was terribly attractive and distracting.  “You are?”  
  
“Yes.  I am.”  He smiled crookedly at her and sat down on the couch beside her, reaching for the remote. "Shall we watch some television?”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Realizing belatedly that Angelus’ minions were deliberately herding him away from Buffy, Spike tried repeatedly to break through and get back to her.  His worry for her was uppermost in his mind and even with his superior strength, he couldn’t break through the number of minions blocking his way.  It was only when he realized they weren’t fighting him that he actually stopped.    
  
The hum just beneath his skin had become a near shout and Spike whirled around thinking it was some new threat that was causing it.  _Should have fucking known.   Expected it so, why didn’t I recognize it?_ She was cradled, ironically enough, in the outstretched arms of a winged marble angel.  _Cradled?  She’s bloody lounging there like the bleeding Queen of Sheba.  
_  
The sight of Drusilla, ivory skin clad in scarlet and black lace, against a backdrop of pure white marble, normally would have moved him.  Would have had him aching to be buried inside her, surrounded by crimson blood.  Now, looking at her posed form, he felt none of the old pull, none of the old attraction.  No pulsing need to join with her.  Just a naggingly real fear that something dire had happened to Buffy.  He scrambled mentally, trying to think of a way to extricate himself from this situation.  
  
Playing for time, Spike paced in front of Drusilla.  He waited for long moments, wondering what she was up to and why she would plan something like this.  And as usual, she didn’t disappoint.  “Hullo, Spike.”  
  
“Dru,” was all he said, his eyes narrowed dangerously.  
  
“Are you cross with me?”  She pouted and where once it would have had him running to smooth things over or on his knees making it up to her, Spike just rocked back on his heels.  
  
“Oh, you are. . . whatever for?  Can’t be because I left you, William, after all, you left me first.  Taken by sunshine.”  
  
He remembered the first time she’d said that to him, a very long time ago, long before they’d ever decided to come to Sunnydale.  He’d scoffed at her then, completely dismissing her.  But he had been taken by sunshine.  _Call her that all the time.  ‘S what she is.  My sunshine._  
  
Before he could say anything, Dru slithered away from the statue, flicking her fingers at the remaining minions, dismissing them.  
  
“Why did you come, Dru?”  He swung his arms wide.  “Why bother?  For him?”  He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice.  In the days and weeks following his escape from The Initiative labs, he’d tried everything to get some help – his distress sending reverberations through the bloodlines – yet none had responded, not even her.  Instead he’d been forced to seek shelter and asylum from the Slayer.  In retrospect, it had been the right thing, but his sire should have cared.  “I needed you then and you ignored me.  He calls once and you drop everything?”  
  
“Miss Edith said you were already lost.”  Drusilla tried placating him, though Spike was beyond caring.  
  
“Fuck that soddin’ doll, Dru.”  He looked at her, eyes hard and unfeeling, his nostrils flaring.  “For once in your life, Drusilla, just tell me the truth, in plain English.”  
  
“The truth?  The truth is a whisper on the wind, a ray of light in the dark.  The truth is not for the likes of us.”  She was shaking her head, swaying a bit.  “The truth already knows you, William.  Sunshine and baby flowers.  Precious little strawberries.”  
  
 _Buggering fuck._   “Drusilla, you are mad as a hatter.”  He flung out an arm, gesturing wildly, pointing her eastward.  Spike stepped closer, until he was within touching distance. “He will be dust, Dru.  Leave now while you still can.”  
  
She snapped at him, then giggled.  “So brave and gallant, my knight, always protecting his lady fair.”  
  
Spike rolled his eyes, loudly growling his aggravation.  “Not yours, Dru.  Not for a long time.”  
  
Drusilla curled into him, her hands on the duster’s collar.  “Always mine, Spike.”  
  
He pushed her away, hard enough to make her stumble to her knees.  “No, Dru.  Not then and not now.”  He loomed over her, about to say something else when his attention was pulled away.  That mouth-watering scent filling his senses was enough to tell him Buffy was on her way, he didn’t need her pounding heartbeat to know how close she was.  
  
“Spike?”  There was a quavering tone to her simple question, yet he heard the tension clearly.  _Right then, she’s already seen Dru.  How’re you gonna fix this one, eh, mate?_  
  
“Sunshine?”  It took her half a dozen steps to reach his side, though as soon as she was in striking distance he hauled her closer, his eyes roaming over her, checking for obvious injuries.  “You okay?”  
  
“Yeah.”  The hurt and fear were clearly audible in her tone and Spike knew it was because of the vampire behind him.  She must have seen enough to misunderstand, or worse, heard Dru’s last comment.  He wasn’t hers.  Had never really been hers, even when they’d been together.    Spike stared down into Buffy’s eyes, his hands holding her shoulders so that she couldn’t possibly turn away from him.  At first she wouldn’t look, wouldn’t return his gaze, but he shook her just a tiny bit and she finally looked up at him.    
  
The emotion in his eyes humbled her.  And yet there was still that tiny seed of doubt lingering in her mind.  This was, after all, Drusilla she had found him with.  Had it been Harmony, Buffy wouldn’t have felt it at all.  But it wasn’t Harmony.  Drusilla was the one constant in his life.  And when she was gone. . . would it be Drusilla that he’d run to?    
  
Drusilla was singing softly, swaying in time to a beat only she heard, her voice a bare whisper in the wind, and yet Spike felt no desire to turn away from the woman in his arms.  His eyes bore into hers, midnight blue into forest green and he knew, _oh yeah, nothin’ is worth losing her over.  Not a bleedin’ thing on earth._  
   
Without taking his eyes from Buffy’s, Spike said to Drusilla, “Go back to where you came from, princess.  There’s nothin’ here for you.”  
  
She couldn’t smile at him.  Couldn’t make her face change expression.  The only thing she could do was let the tears that had been held off by sheer force of will, well up in her eyes.  
  
Sparing neither a glance nor another word for the vampire behind them, Spike moved closer to Buffy and kissed her forehead.  Breathing out against her skin, he said, “C’mon, kitten, let’s go home.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Dawn was spying again.  She stopped at the top of the stairs, straining her ears for any sound from the two adults downstairs, but she couldn’t hear anything.  It was driving her crazy, not knowing what the heck was happening in her own house.  And this was crazy, whatever it was between Anya and Giles.  _Well, not in the sense that it’s icky, coz it kinda isn’t._   But more crazy because Xander was gonna lose his mind when he found out about it.  _Sheesh, Giles should know better than this, coz he’s like old.  Way old._ Although it was better than Giles and Joyce getting together.  Dawn suppressed a giggle when she realized that had been one of the couples she had thought might have been her real parents.  _Nope.  Sooo glad it wasn’t Giles and Joyce._  
  
Once she’d found out the truth, it made complete and total sense to her.  She’d never questioned it, about Buffy and Spike, never even thought to question it.  It just made sense.  In the hellmouthy, nothing really makes sense sort of way.  There were some couples that just made sense to her and some that . . . she couldn’t see.  Like Tara and Willow made sense in the same way that Willow and Oz had made sense.  In a really weird way, Oz and Tara made sense too, but not in the smoochies kind of way.  They sort of just fit together.    
  
Like Buffy and Spike.  If there were ever two people who fit together better than those two, Dawn had never seen them.  Even though they’d only been together since Buffy came back, it felt like forever.  Felt like they belonged to each other.  It was so different from when Riley was here.  He constantly belittled everything, without even realizing it.  He dismissed her friends as useless, even while he tried to be a part of them, and he treated her and Joyce like they weren’t real.  Dawn wrinkled up her nose.  _And really, Riley was way better than Angel._ At least Riley had just treated her like a stupid kid.  Angel had treated her like a cross between a meal and an alien.  Even knowing those memories were fake didn’t do anything to making them any better.    
  
Her ears pricked up and Dawn heard movement downstairs.  Giles murmured something, then it sounded like he got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen.  Taking the chance that he had, Dawn got up from her seat on the floor and made her way noisily down the steps.    
  
Anya was changing Connor, after the chow hound had downed another full bottle and looked up when Dawn stopped at the doorway.  “Hello, Dawn.”  
  
“Hey.”  In preparation and as a cool cover, she had a full laundry basket in hand.  Using her chin, Dawn indicated the laundry.  “I’m just gonna head down to the basement and you know, do some wash.”  
  
“Okay.  That’s a productive thing to be doing.”  Anya nodded her head, then went back to her task.    
“I’ll just do that then.”  Dawn sauntered away, intent on her next target.  Giles was in the kitchen, fiddling with the teakettle and obviously searching for something for them to snack on.  “There’s cookies in the jar.”  
  
He stood up so quickly that he nearly whacked his head on the cabinet, barely managing to miss it by inches.  “Dawn.  You really shouldn’t sneak up on people.”  
  
“Right.  Coz I was being all stealthy.”  She rolled her eyes and pretended insolence.  She shrugged.  “Anyway.  There’s sweet stuff in there.  Plus I think Spike has some chocolate hidden somewhere.”  
  
“No.  I was just looking for some biscuits.”  Giles folded his arms across his chest, contemplating the teenager in front of him.  He started to say something, then thought better of it.  Judging by the look on his face, Dawn had an idea of what it was, and she decided to stop that idea from blooming into full fledged research.    
  
“I don’t want to talk about it.  About Buffy and Spike.  Okay?”  She moved toward the basement door, then looked at him over her shoulder.  “I just wanted to know who I am.  Who I really belonged too.  It wasn’t anything more than that.”  
  
“All right, Dawn.  I won’t bring it up unless you want to talk about it.”  He understood her need to discover who she was, and who she was part of; it made perfect sense.    
  
His easy agreement seemed to soothe her nerves, because she smiled at him and he was forcibly reminded just who her parents were when the smile ended in a slight smirk.  “Thanks, Giles.”  
  
She was gone in a swirl of long dark hair, the sound of her feet thudding down the stairs countered by the light tap of Anya’s heels on the kitchen floor.  Pausing to wash her hands at the sink, she turned to face him.  “Connor’s asleep.”    
  
“Oh good.”  Giles suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands and he was relieved when the kettle whistled.  “I fixed us some tea.”  
  
“Are you nervous?”  Anya studied him carefully, her eyes watching his every move.  
  
“I am.”  He fiddled with the kettle, filling the teapot and placing it slowly back on the burner.  
  
“Why?  Am I making you nervous?”  She smiled brightly at him. “I don’t mean to make you nervous.”  
  
“No, it’s not just you.”  Deciding to take the bull by the horns, Giles stopped fiddling and looked directly at Anya.  “It’s me also.  I’ve . . . I’ve developed. . . that is . . .” _Oh, buck up, you git._   “You are a beautiful, attractive, and intelligent woman, Anya.  And you deserve much better than Xander Harris could ever give you.”  
  
There.  He’d said it.  But he wasn’t prepared for her reaction at all, because when Anya burst into tears, Rupert Giles was at a complete loss.  On the other side of the basement door, Dawn was silently screaming at him, _give her a hug, c’mon Giles, just do it._   Somehow, in the cosmic way of things on the hellmouth, he must have heard her, because  Giles took two steps toward her and then folded her into his arms.    
  
Peeking one eye through the partially opened door, Dawn pumped her fist once in the air, then with a huge grin, jumped down the entire flight of steps.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
They were quiet the whole way home, both of them wrapped up in their own thoughts, neither one of them willing to share at the moment.  Spike had a feeling he knew what was bothering her, though he wasn’t really sure he wanted to start this discussion anywhere except inside the safety of their own home.    
  
For Buffy, seeing Drusilla had dredged up lots of memories and emotions she didn’t want to face.  Not for a very long time.  Drusilla once had the love of both Angel and Spike and she feared that she would never, ever be able to compete with that, to carve out a place for herself.   She’d known, deep down inside, in some way that Angel was more in love with her image than the real deal, but she wasn’t always so sure about Spike.  Not that she doubted he loved her, but. . . sometimes the doubt about how long and how deeply would creep in.  He’d been with Drusilla for over a hundred years.  That was, in itself, an incredible feat.  How could she hope to measure up to that?  She wasn’t even going to have twenty more years with Spike.  And that hurt.  Because right now she wanted a  lifetime.  A real lifetime.  She wanted to be able to see Dawn grow up and have kids; hell, she wanted to see Connor grow up.  But she wasn’t going to get that.  And Spike would have a really long time to forget about her.   A really, really long time.  
  
Trudging in the back door, they missed the hurried movements and guilty expressions on the faces of the other two adults, wrapped up as they were in their own thoughts.  Giles and Anya bid them a hasty goodnight, slipping out the front door within moments of their arrival, barely imparting that Dawn was downstairs doing laundry and Connor was asleep in the living room.  
  
Spike went to the basement door, telling Dawn they were home, then locking up, while Buffy silently collected the infant and drifted up the stairs with him.  Normally, since they were home so very early, Spike would have settled himself in front of the television and watched some movies or something, but tonight he didn’t even look at the television.  He locked all the doors, left a light on for Tara and followed Buffy up the stairs.  
  
She was just putting Connor in his crib when he walked in the doorway, and he stopped to watch her for a long moment.  He knew she was upset about Drusilla, knew it was bothering her but he suddenly couldn’t think of a way to get her to open up.  The only light in their room was from the small bedside table lamp and he thought, while watching her, that she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever laid eyes on.  Figuring he might as well tell her so, Spike quietly murmured, as he closed the door behind him, “You know she can’t hold a candle to you.  You are the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”  
  
For once, he must have said the right thing, because she swung round to face him, her hands on the sides of the crib, her heart in her eyes.  
  
“You are, you know.”  Seeing the denial on her face, Spike forestalled any vocalized refutation by closing the distance and repeating himself.  “Trust me, kitten, she can’t compete with you at all.”  
  
“Really?”  Her voice was small and flooded with disbelief.  
  
“Really.”  He was standing close to her, nearly chest to chest, his hands resting on hers, his gaze focused intently on her.  “Yeah.  Really.”  
  
Her eyes drifted closed and Buffy drew in a deep breath.  His scent surrounded her, pulling her in and she swayed closer to him, just a little, though it was all the invitation he needed.  Swinging her up into his arms, Spike moved toward their bed, his words low and gruff against her ear.  “If I have to prove it all night, I will.”  
  
Arms around his neck, she nuzzled against the duster, wanting to feel his skin.  She must have made some noise, because he shifted her higher and her mouth sucked on his neck, just to the right of his Adam’s apple.  He stopped in his tracks, inches from the bed, every nerve in him pulled taut.  “Oh god, kitten.  Don’t. . . not now. . . jus’ gimme a . . .”    
  
His words ended in a growl when she nipped at the spot just under his ear.  Spike couldn’t think, just wanted to feel her under his hands, responding to his touch.  His brain was screaming at him to slow it down, but his body wasn’t listening.    He moved his hands to grip her by the waist, rubbing his thumbs in circles on her skin.  “Love you so much. . . so bloody much.”    
  
Spike kissed her then, his mouth hungry and needy on hers, nipping at her lip, tongue curling against hers.  She broke away, pushing the duster off his shoulders.  “Spike. . .”  
  
The momentary break gave him clarity.  There were some things he needed to say to her, things she needed to understand.  “Buffy. . . love, look at me.    
  
He shrugged off the duster, tossing it on the chair behind him, stilling her almost frantic hands.  “Hey, sunshine, listen to me. . .” He caught the fear and tears in her eyes and he knew he had to speak before they got lost in each other.  “Kitten, lemme hold you a moment.  I want you to understand something.”  
  
She nodded against his chest after burying her face against him, inhaling deeply.  “I did love her.”

   
He felt her stiffen in his embrace, but he knew he had to finish this.  “I said _did_. . . though it wasn’t anywhere near the way I feel about you.  She freed me from being nothing, gave me enough to set me free of who I was.  But she . . . much as I loved her, I wasn’t first in her heart.  Not then.  Probl’ly not ever.”  Spike knew he was about to lay himself bare for her, yet he didn’t care any more.  He loved her, every inch, from her shampoo commercial hair to her incredibly powerful little feet; and it was time he made her understand what that meant.  
  
“Dru was my way out.  But, you kitten, you . . .”  He smiled at her, a real genuine smile and tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at her.  “You are _everything_.  You make me feel things I’ve never felt, never thought I wanted to feel.  You make me want things I told myself I couldn’t have anymore.  I love you an’ I will never stop lovin’ you.  Not if I live forever.”    
  
Buffy pulled away from his chest, looking back up at him, tears sliding down her face.  “I’ll love you even if you never love me back, kitten.  I can’t help it.  Don’t want to.  Told you once I was drownin’, I meant it.”      
  
Her hands slid beneath his shirt, curving up around his sleek back.  She could feel the tension in him, feel that he was nervous about all this and Buffy just couldn’t fight it any longer.  “I don’t want to lose you, Spike.  Not for any reason.”  
  
“You’re not gonna, sweetheart.”  Inhaling deeply, Spike took one last gamble, and prepared himself for the rejection.  “I . . . Buffy. . .”  He had to clear his throat, because the emotion was clogging it and he couldn’t force the words past his tongue, couldn’t even get them to form. . . then a memory of another time he’d asked her something similar crossed his brain, and Spike grinned internally.  _Maybe_. . . “I love you kitten.  An’ I’m askin’ you to hear me out, before you say anythin’.”  
  
Buffy smiled at him, then settled down on the bed, pulling him up after her.  Her head hit the pillow and she waited patiently.  He hovered over her, held away from her body by the strength of his arms, his face inscrutable.  “The bond Dru an’ I shared was only Sire and Childe. . . nothin’ more.  She wouldn’t . . . didn’t want to make it anythin’ deeper.  An’ after a while I stopped thinkin’ about it.”   Spike paused when she started to speak, saying,   “Shush.  I asked you to wait, yeah?  Right then.”  
  
 “Stopped wantin’ anything deeper with her.  With you, though, it’s different.  All I want is _more_. . . somethin’ deeper.  Something permanent.  I want you with me . . . no, not turnin’ . . . never that.  But, kitten, I want . . . I’m askin’. . .”    He slumped a little, his forehead resting against hers, unable to force the question out.  _Christ, why was this easier hopped up on magics than now?  Coz now, you git, it means more._  
  
“Spike?”   Her arms were around him and he nearly couldn’t think anymore.  “What are you  saying?”  
  
He blew out the breath he didn’t need to hold and ruffled her hair in the process.  “I’m sayin’, Buffy, that I love you more than anythin’ else and that I want to make this permanent.”  
  
Buffy brought a hand up to cup his cheek, forcing him to lift away from her forehead and look at her.  “What are you asking me, Spike?”  
  
“Stubborn bint.  Gonna make me spell it out for you?”  He rolled over then, getting himself into a sitting position against the headboard, then pulled her over onto his lap.  “All right then.  Not gettin’ down on bended knee, already did that.”  Taking a deep breath and not looking away from her, Spike finally spoke.  “Guess I should have planned this out better, but . . . Buffy?”  
  
Her smile was soft and full of love, something he never expected to see.  “Spike?  Would it help if you already knew the answer?”  
  
Without thinking, the words shot out of his mouth, “Bloody right, it would.  Never thought askin’ you to be mine would be this hard.”  
  
Her giggle lit up the room and he realized belatedly what he’d just done.  “Oh, bollocks.”  Spike watched her, then just finally said what he’d been thinking all along.  “Wanna make you mine, kitten, want you to be my Mate.  That means forever.  Always.  No matter what happens.  We’d belong to each other.”          
  
  
     


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from a quote by Peter Ustinov, (Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes habit)


	23. An ever fixed mark

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter 23.  An ever fixed mark.  
  
For you and for me the highest moment,   
the keenest joy,   
is not when our minds dominate but when we lose our minds.  
    Anais Nin,  Feb. 1932 from Henry and June   
  
Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments. Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove:  
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,  
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;  
It is the star to every wandering bark,  
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.  
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks  
Within his bending sickle’s compass come  
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,  
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
If this be error, and upon me prov’d  
I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.  
    Sonnet CXVI  **_        
  
  
  
  
Her smile faded a bit when she heard him say forever.  “Spike, I don’t have forever.”   
  
He grabbed her shoulders and held her still.  “We don’t know that.  Gonna have as long as I can give you, an’ even then it doesn’t matter.  I’ll love you for the whole five minutes I have after you’re gone.”  
  
Buffy’s brow wrinkled as she said, “Five minutes?  What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“Coz, sweetheart, I’m not living if you aren’t.  Not going through that again.  Chances are no one’ll be stupid enough to try an’ bring you back a third time.”  He held on, his fingers almost digging into her muscles, willing her to understand what he was saying.  “I couldn’t. . . not even for Lil Bit.”  
  
“Oh.  You . . . love me that much?”  Her small hand reached up to run down his angular cheek, her eyes on his.    
  
“Yeah.  Been tryin’ to say that.”  His hold on her eased a bit, letting her relax in his arms.  “So?”  
  
“So. . . you are asking me to . . . asking if I want us to belong to each other?”  She was stunned, in a way.  He was  – the few times she’d paid attention when Giles was going over claims and mating, she understood that it was unbreakable, that it was powerful and it was forever, more binding than any ring or legal documents could ever be – asking her to take a monumental step in their relationship.  
  
It had only been a few months. . . since her return, since they’d become a couple.  Was she ready for this?  This was a huge commitment, bigger than anything she’d thought.  She and Spike had sort of just drifted into this relationship, bypassing the dating thing she’d done with Riley.  _Unfair comparison Buffy, Spike is completely different from Riley. . . and stop thinking about him._   Pushing him out of her mind, Buffy focused on Spike.  He was pretty much everything she ever wanted but didn’t know; everything she needed and hadn’t realized.  _So what if it was only months_. . . she had the sudden feeling that it wouldn’t have mattered if it was only days.    
  
Buffy was silent for so long that Spike braced himself for the rejection he believed was coming.  He looked away from her, his jaw clenched and body poised to get up and leave her alone, because he didn’t think he could sleep next to her if she refused him.  She opened her mouth and Spike’s every muscle tensed.  
  
“You want me to be yours.  You want to be mine.  That’s what you’re asking me, right?” She wished he would look at her, because this was just so hard to say, so terrifying to admit.  
  
“Yeah.  ‘S what I’m askin’.”  Her finger traced over his lips, and he unconsciously kissed the tip.  
  
“Then maybe you wanna look at me when you get your answer.”  Her words were a bare whisper between them.    
  
Spike glanced down, prepared to look away quickly when he saw denial and was instead trapped by the love he found swimming in her eyes.  Her hands pulled his forward, linking their fingers together.  She opened her mouth, to say it, when her answer got caught in her throat and all she could do was nod her head in a yes.  “Is that a yes, kitten? Coz I need to hear it.”  
  
His voice was as quiet as hers had been and she finally managed to get it out.  “Yes.  That was a yes.”    
  
The rumbling in his chest vibrated through her and Buffy melted into his arms.  “Love you, kitten, I do.  Always.”  
  
“Me too, Spike.”  She leaned closer into him and he could feel every inch of her against him and that was no longer enough.  He needed to feel her around him, letting him sink into her depths.  
  
Seemed like they both had had enough of talking, because the same instant his hands snaked beneath her shirt, hers wormed their way under his tee shirt lifting it up so that she could feel his skin.  When they were both naked from the waist up, Spike leaned forward, reverently kissed both her nipples and then latched onto one of them.  His hands caressed  her and Buffy held him to her, her fingers smoothing up and down his sleek back, then resting in his curls.  
  
His lips traced a path across her breasts, finding her other nipple.  One hand wrapped around her, settling into the small of her back while his thumb made lazy circles over her puckered nipple.  
  
She was melting, falling into him, wanting more when he moved, lifting her away from his mouth and hands.  Buffy whined his name and Spike grinned a little, growling, “Kitten, wanna be inside you, but this isn’t gonna work with clothes on.”  
  
Standing her up, Spike popped the buttons on her pants, sliding them down to her feet in the same motion.  One hand trailed up her inner thighs, parting her legs.  His low rumbles of pleasure went right through her and he could sense the shift in her.   
  
 “C’mere,” he growled out as he pulled her closer.  Buffy drifted toward him, gasping a little as two fingers slid up into her warmth.  All her attention was focused on his fingers, the sensation of him gliding in and out of her, his thumb pressing on her clit.  She wavered on her feet, her knees buckling at bit, forcing her to hold onto his shoulders.  
  
One handed, Spike somehow managed to get his boots undone and was working on getting them off his feet, trying to work the buttons on his jeans at the same time.  Buffy broke free of the haze of want surrounding her to realize that he was struggling to get naked.  Her small hands slid down his torso, cupping his ass under the denim.  He stood, his fingers trailing wetly up and around her breasts.  Buffy’s hand traced up his hipbone, over the hard planes of his shoulder and chest, finally resting on his face, her thumb tracing patterns over his lips.  A soft smile bloomed across her features and one word slipped from her.  
  
It was all the signal he needed.  She’d done it.  Said she wanted it and now. . .  “Yeah, kitten.  Yours.”  
  
He closed the small distance between them, his erection hard against her belly, his arms reaching out to hold her close.  They met each other in the distance between, lips melting together, tongues clashing.  His hands were under her ass, lifting her up and Buffy wrapped her legs around his waist.  “Need to feel you, kitten. . . need you.”  
  
Spike laid them down on the bed, his cock teasing at her entrance.  “Now, Spike, please.”   She panted into his mouth, begging him to take her.  
  
Shifting his hips, Spike pushed up and in, kissing her deeply at the same time.  Buffy opened herself, guiding him in, her breath hitching when he finally slid in all the way.  A tiny grunt of pained pleasure was forced from her and she whispered softly, “Oh.  You . . fill me.”  
  
“Buffy. . .”  He was thrusting hard, angling deep, his forehead resting on hers.  “Love you.  Love you. . . . love you.”  
  
Tears sprang to her eyes and she dug her fingers into his back, holding on.  “Spike. . . Spike. . .”  
  
Hard and fast he pounded into her, unable to slow down, thrusting out of control.  His hips were pistoning into her and Buffy was writhing beneath him, holding on, her legs against him and Spike was going to. . . his balls were tight and hard and he knew she was close because she was frantically moving in time and his fangs were itching to taste her and he reared back, lifting her with him and he licked a path across her throat once and struck.  
  
Buffy shrieked once as her first orgasm hit, then clamped her own teeth down on his neck  and Spike was lost.  
  
Her blood was on his tongue, inside him and he could feel her. . . every part of her, knew when her tears stopped then started again.  His hips stilled, their gasping panting breaths filling the air, her tears pooling in the hollow of his shoulder and Spike felt his own tears welling up.  He licked his marks closed, savoring the feel of her everywhere on him, her coppery sweet taste in his mouth.  
  
Spike looked into her eyes, both wet with tears, his hands cupping her head, whispering softly, “Mine.”  He inhaled deeply, breathing out, “Always.  Forever.  Mine.  Till everything fades away an’ there’s nothing left.”  
  
Buffy’s smile wavered a bit, fresh tears falling again.  “Yes.  Yours.”  
  
His lips were gently on hers, then he whispered, “Your turn.”    
  
Her smile broke through the tears and she asked, “This means you can’t ever leave me, right?”  
  
“Means I won’t. . . but yeah.”  He waited, wondering what she was about to do.  
  
Her arms circled round his head and she gave a good imitation of his growl, saying, “Mine. . . mine. . . mine.”  
  
Spike laughed then from sheer relief, then said back to her, “Yours.  Always.  F’rever.”  
  
Buffy’s head dropped down onto his shoulder, her breath warm against his skin.  They were both quiet, neither one wanting to break the silence.  Connor shifted in his crib, let loose a soft howl, then stilled again.  
  
It seemed to break the silence between them and Buffy kissed the broken skin on his neck, feeling him shudder.  His movement caused ripples through her and Buffy shifted a bit on his lap.  “I’m not gonna get all fangy, am I?”   
  
Spike laughed again, this one hard enough to forcefully remind her they were still intimately joined.  “No.  Though no one’s ever claimed and mated a slayer before.  According to Rupert they were only potentials.  Don’t rightly know what this is gonna do.”  
  
“Spike?”  There was a strange note in her voice.  
  
“Yeah?”  He leaned back a bit to look down at her.  
  
“Can you never ever mention Giles again when we’re. . . .”  
  
His laughter rumbled through both of them and he fell back, bringing her with him.  She landed hard, and his hips bucked up, flexing in reaction.  Instantly his expression changed and Spike reached up to cup her breasts.  “That’s it, kitten, need you again.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
They had practically run from the house, barely taking time to say good night to the two blonds and give them an update on the whereabouts of the two children.  Giles didn’t question them on how patrol went, eager for once to escape the scrutiny of the normally too perceptive vampire.   But Spike hadn’t noticed anything amiss, hadn’t picked up on the awkward atmosphere between himself and Anya, which was a blessing in and of itself.  
  
He was quiet on the drive to the apartment she shared with Xander, unsure of what to say or how to broach any subject.  Giles had come to appreciate much about the ex-demon, including her wit and drive, and he was beginning to suspect that he might harbor more than friendly or co-worker affection for the girl.  Yet there was the very real complication of her current romantic partner.  Until she gave him some indication that they were no longer a couple, Giles had to operate under the assumption they were.  And he wasn’t a poacher.  He’d wait until she was free; if she ever decided to cut the boy loose.  
  
So until then, he wasn’t going to make a move.    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Dawn heard them come in, heard Spike’s voice from the top of the stairs telling her they were home, then the slam of the front door indicating Giles and Anya had left quickly.  Anya was strange, but she was cool, and since life was pretty good, Dawn wanted everyone to be happy.    
  
Finishing up her laundry, Dawn headed for the living room, fully expecting to find Spike settled and already channel surfing.  Instead the room was dark, only one light on and he was nowhere to be found.  That was a surprise, because it was barely midnight and he rarely went to bed this early.  Shrugging her shoulders, Dawn flipped on the television, curled up on the couch and prepared to watch bad late-night television shows.    
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Buffy was draped over him, one leg curled over his hips, his cock still nestled in her depths and she was snoring lightly.  Spike was wide awake though, his thoughts on the girl in his arms, one hand making idle circles on her bare back.  He couldn’t sleep.  Almost didn’t want to.  He was listening to the sounds of Buffy’s and Connor’s breathing and heartbeats, his mind on what he and Buffy had just done.    
  
It was the single most important moment of his existence.  He had no words to explain to Buffy what it meant to him, how important her acceptance and yes, he could admit it now, what her love meant.  Buffy shifted, her mouth brushing against his skin in an unconscious kiss, and he fought off a shiver.  Spike ran his hand over her from hip to shoulder, watching her as the skin of her back almost rose to meet his touch.  She was gold and sunshine, her whole existence warming him, everything about her . . .  There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her.  Wasn’t anything . . . he’d go out and slay demons for her every night, protect those she loved – anything she wanted.  Emotions clogged in his throat, choking him, and Spike felt a sudden need to look at her face, to look into her eyes and tell her what he was feeling.    
  
Rolling over gently, Spike rearranged their bodies and limbs so that he was laying over her; his arms going round her head, his hands ghosting through her hair.  He studied her face in the dark, the only light now from a candle he’d lit much earlier that was beginning to gutter, casting wavering shadows over her features.  “I love you.  So much.”  
  
He’d slipped from her warmth during the shift and he wanted back in; wanted to stay inside her forever, become part. . . they were a piece of each other, half of a whole that had been broken for so long.  Spike didn’t necessarily believe in the idea of soulmates, though he understood that there was more in heaven and earth that defied description. _They_ defied description.  He also didn’t believe in fate or destiny, life and unlife had thrown him too many curves to believe any longer, but he knew there was life after death, hell he was unliving proof of that. . . but the other kind of life after death; finding a piece of heaven when you least deserved it or least expected it.  He’d found it, here, in her arms.  With her.  Sometimes he wondered if maybe he should still believe in destiny . . .   
  
He sat up a bit, looking down at the still sleeping woman beneath him.  Of their own volition, his hands stroked over her every curve, feather light and reverent.  His eyes drank in her appearance.  That this. . . was granted to him, when he’d least deserved any being’s kindness humbled him, altered him in ways that he might never begin to fathom, made him more than what he was, more than the failed poet, more than the violent demon. . .   
  
Following his fingers, Spike laid gentle kisses in a path from her belly to her breasts, unaware of the tears that pooled in his eyes.  She’d been gone.  Taken from him, from all of them.  He’d never thought to see her again.  Her light had gone out, extinguished too soon, in a fight to preserve everything she loved.  And he’d wept.  Mourned her loss.  Flung his tears and anger at the heavens, raging at a universe that had taken the one beautiful thing in his life, leaving him bereft.  Empty.    
  
His love was a fierce feral beast inside him, raging against what had been torn away, unable to truly wreak the havoc he’d wanted too when she was gone.  
  
He’d raged, using the only things he had, fists and fangs, destroying the only things he could – his own kind.  And his one fervent prayer – the only one he could ever remember saying for a very, very long time – his only request of the universe, had been granted.  
  
Never had he wanted it granted in the way it had been, would have preferred to let her be in peace, but that wasn’t to be.  She’d been given back to a world that didn’t appreciate her, didn’t know what it had in her – and to him.    
  
She was back, flesh and blood and warm. . . _oh god_ , warm beneath him, breathing, living.  Although she was broken.  Broken by her journey back, broken by the heartache that had gone before; by life and heartbreak.  And yet, she’d begun the inevitable process of healing. Starting with him.  Buffy had wanted him, needed him – took strength from him.    
  
And now here he was.  With her.  In their bed, their house.    
  
Spike felt the pull of the poet he once strove to be raging through him, urging him to put pen to paper and compose something, anything to convey to her the breadth and depth of his emotions.  Tamping down that urge, instead, he let his body worship hers, his lips reverently tracing every part of her, his words, meager as they were, a benediction, a plea, all whispered in gratitude for what they had now.  “Love you, Buffy.  So much.”  
  
Kisses interspersed with words flowed from him, washing over the still form of his mate, his entire being focused on her.   “Always.  Forever.”  
  
So intent upon her was he, yet still he missed the signs, missed the wakening and missed the tears falling silently at his hushed words of adoration; until warm hands reached to cup his cheek, tracing their own patterns on his alabaster skin.    
  
She didn’t speak, listening instead to his deep rumbling tones wash over her.  Lines long forgotten from an old Scottish poem he barely remembered his grandfather reciting to his grandmother flashed into his head and he used it to tell her what he was feeling.    
  
“You are the star in my every night.”  His lips trailed across her belly, his hands caressing her gently.  
  
“You are the brightness of every morning.”  Spike licked and suckled at her nipples.  “You are the face of my sun.”  
  
His mouth licked a path upwards, toward her mouth.  He caught the look in her eyes and all words, all thoughts fled.  “‘M yours.   All I ever was, ever will be. . . love you so much.”  
  
Buffy threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him to her.  “Spike.”  She couldn’t talk, couldn’t think of anything to say that would compare to his words.  So she showed him.  
  
Her lips sought his, her hands slid across his sleek muscles, her body called to his.  
  
Following his earlier actions, Buffy laid soft kisses over his shoulders, tiny little teasing things, designed to drive him mad.  
  
“Kitten. . . need you . . . need inside.”  Suiting action to word, Spike nestled between her legs, his cock bumping against her clit.  “C’mon, love, lemme in.”  
  
Buffy shifted, opening herself, tilting her hips so that the head of his cock was wedged tightly just inside her.  Spike was panting, his breath washing over her while Buffy was desperately trying to gain control.  “Spike. . . love me.”  
  
“Oh god.”  And as he slid inside, the control he’d been relying on deserted him.  “Fuck.”  
  
His hips thrust hard into her, his hands clenching around hers, and there was nothing but the feel of her around him, the liquid heat enveloping him. . . the silky slide of her. . .  Surrounding him, bathing him in her warmth.  He groaned, unable to think, unable to be any. . . every nerve was on fire.  
  
Buffy clung to him, her hips moving with his, her legs wrapped around his waist, anchoring them together.  He was hard and solid, filling her, his cock bumping against her and all she could do was gasp and whimper.  
  
He could feel the pressure building, gaining in intensity and speed, his thrusting increasing in force, his balls tightening painfully and he was gasping out her name, breathing into her mouth, aching for her and he felt the fluttering, the spasming, the tightening of her pussy around his cock and Spike was lost.  His orgasm rose up, engulfing both of them, breaking like a wave within her, shattering his world and reforming it into something new.  
                  
  
  
  
  
  
                


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from the Bard of Avon, Sonnet CXVI


	24. Hope is a waking dream.

_**Book Two.  
  
Chapter 24.   Hope is a waking dream.   
  
What reinforcement we may gain from hope;  
If not, what resolution from despair.    
    John Milton,  Satan, Paradise Lost, bk. 1  
  
There was no hope, but everyone felt the courage of despair.   
    Rose Wilder Lane, The Ghost in the Little House  
  
And thus it is that in the depth of love there is a depth of eternal despair,   
out of which springs hope and consolation.   
    Miguel de Unamuno, The Tragic Sense of Life**_  
  
  
  
  
She kept waiting for things to change, little signs that something was different about her since she and Spike had exchanged claiming and mating bites, but aside from feeling him all the time and at times being able to key into his emotions and thoughts, there were no outward signs.  Everything was normal.  Well, as normal as their lives were.  
  
That didn’t stop her from searching her face in the mirror, three weeks after they’d mated, looking for signs of bumps or fangs.  _Nope.  Nothing there._  
  
Spike stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching Buffy go through the funniest thing he’d ever seen in a long time.  At this precise moment, she was lifting her lips over her gums, looking for signs of elongating canines.  She was adorably funny and he was having a hard time suppressing his laughter.  She hadn’t seen or sensed him yet, though that was only a matter of time.    
  
He’d come up here for something else entirely, but had gotten sidetracked when he’d caught a glimpse of her antics.  Connor was sleeping in his crib and the rest of the household was gone, Dawn and Tara both at school.  
  
Crossing his arms over his chest, Spike tried to stop the laughter that was bubbling up inside him. “I’d imagine your reflection would be bit hazy if all that other stuff were to happen.”  
  
Buffy turned, blushing furiously at being caught in the act of checking her own mouth.  “How long have you been watching me?”  
  
“Long enough, goldilocks.”  His eyes held a spark of mischief.  “If you’re looking for fangs, love, don’t think it’s gonna happen.”  
  
‘Why not?”  She paused, realizing how jealous that sounded and how weird _that_ was.  “Um, not that I really want fangs and bumpies, coz, uh, not so nice, but how come?”  
  
Spike moved further into the bathroom, almost closing the door behind him.  The usual scents assaulted his supernatural sense of smell, but Spike tuned them out, narrowing on Buffy.  He’d come upstairs to get something from his wallet but her crazy behavior, combined with her mouth-watering scent distracted him.  There was something about her that was different, newer . . .   
  
“Coz, kitten, I’d have to turn you for that and ‘m not likely to be doing that anytime soon.”  
  
“No?”  She pouted a bit, her lower lip jutting out, teasing him.  
  
“Not bloody likely.”  He ran a finger over her lips.  “Course I’d still be your willin’ slave, but I like you this way. . . warm and . . .”  Spike nuzzled his face into her hair, nudging at her with his nose.  “You smell fuckin’ delicious, sunshine.  Wanna eat you all up, little girl.”  
  
Her arms reached up around the back of his neck, holding him against her as his words set off tiny explosions in her.  “Delicious?”  His arms encircled her from behind and Spike ground his erection into her ass.  “Me?”  
  
“Fuck, yeah.”  His fangs grazed his mating marks on her throat and tiny droplets of blood rolled around his tongue.  “Yeah, richer, stronger.  Fuller. . .”  Spike sniffed her again, this time not with the intent of seduction.  Spike spun her around, his eyes intent on her, searching her face.   
  
Dropping down to his knees, Spike pulled her close, inhaling deeply.  He’d smelled something like this before. . .  Raising his eyes to hers, Spike grinned at the question in her eyes.  He got to his feet, then lifted her up in the air, dropping kisses across her torso.  
  
“Spike, what are you doing?”  His growling laugh caught her attention and she pulled his head away from where it nestled between her breasts.  ‘Spike?  What is wrong with you?  What are you doing?”  
  
The pout was back and Spike dropped her onto the bathroom counter, attacking her pouting lips with a fervor.  Breathless from his kisses, Buffy forgot his weird behavior.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Dawn was sitting in the cafeteria with Janice waiting for Casey to get there so they could eat together.  
  
“Christmas is less than a week away.  Do you know what you’re gonna get him?”  Janice asked, trying to figure out what she should get her own boyfriend.  
  
“He said he wanted some game for the PS2.”  Dawn scrunched up her face.  “But I gotta get Buffy’s too, and something for Giles.  I’m done with everyone after that.”  
  
Janice sighed, grousing.  “You suck.  I haven’t even started.  Not fair.  How come you’re nearly done?”  
  
“Spike gave me money over the weekend.  Figured I might as well get it done.  It was easy shopping for him.”  
  
“Yeah?  Whadidya get him?”  Janice was curious.  
  
Dawn snickered.  “I got him music.  The Essential Clash and um. .  The Buzzcocks.”  
  
“Cool.”  Casey’s voice came from behind her and he kissed her on the cheek then sat down.  “Remind me to ask him if I can copy them after Christmas.”  
  
A light went on in Dawn’s head and she smiled at him.   “Sure.  I can do that.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Everything was cold.  She was cold.  Tendrils of wet hair wrapped themselves around her throat and she couldn’t move her hands to get them away.  Her fingers, when she tried flexing them, were swollen and battered and at least two of them were broken.  Once perfect nails were ragged and she was pretty sure a couple were bleeding sluggishly.  Her skin felt like it was stretched out, sucked dry and every nerve ending was dulled and aching.  Her left wrist was sore.  There were small, razor thin cuts running the length of her arms, stinging her every time she moved.  Her skin was hot there and across her butt, but everywhere else she was cold.    
  
Whatever clothing she’d been wearing was long gone and there were no blankets to cover her.  Not that it mattered.  She couldn’t see anything but the ceiling above her, or, if she angled her head down, the tips of her breasts and the foot of the bed she was tied to.  But she didn’t want to think about that, about what was anchoring her here and now, so instead she focused her gaze upwards, staring at the ceiling.  She imagined all sorts of things, counting bumps and crevices in the flat surface above her, finding interesting patterns.    
  
There was no way of knowing how long she’d been tied up; no way of remembering what had gone on before.  She was nothing.  There was nothing beyond the hurt, and the smell of burning hair and the coppery metallic scent of blood.  Her stomach no longer growled, it had been days since she’d had anything resembling real food. . . _was it days?_   _I don’t remember._    
  
Her once flawless skin had been shredded and torn, mottled and bruised, every inch sporting some mark, some new flaw. . .   Tears were an indulgence, something she permitted herself only when she knew she was alone, when those tormenting her left her alone.  She was crying now, silent salty tears sliding down the side of her head for what once was, what would never be again.  
  
 _I’m gonna survive this.  Gonna. . .not going to let this kill me.  Not going let either of them kill me._   A sob welled up in her throat and she gritted her teeth, trying to force the sound down and away, so that her captors wouldn’t hear her.    
  
Little tingles of awareness shot down her spine and she knew what it meant.  Since the first night, she’d tried to retreat, to shrink away from the pain, to escape away, all to no avail.  The pain dragged her back, kept her mind tied to her body, aware of every cut, every bleeding, seeping wound.   There was no hiding.  
  
Not even her mind would go away . . . leave her body behind, let them do what they would to it, because the shell no longer mattered, the skin wasn’t important.  
  
She grimaced, hearing the first noises that heralded her captors arrival.  Thin leather straps circled her wrists, others binding her legs to the posts of the bed; strips that were once wet with water and allowed to dry were now slick with her blood, tightening and digging into her bleeding flesh.  Despite knowing resistance was only spice to his torture of her, she couldn’t help writhing on the bed, twisting and trying to loosen her bonds in a futile effort to get away from the monster walking down the hallway toward her.  
  
Scrabbling like a rat in the cage, she whined and pulled at the bonds holding her tight, bringing blood to the surface, letting it drip down onto the bed below her.    
  
Her nerves shorted, muscles tensing and flexing with anticipation when she caught a glimpse of him in the doorway.  His pants were riding low on his hips, arms crossed over his barrel chest, a malicious grin lighting his dark features and a feral twinkle in his eyes.  She stilled, knowing something was different . . . he was different right now.   
  
Fear welled up, seizing her, catching in her throat.  Her heart was pounding in her chest, breaths hard and drying her throat.  _No . . . no . . .no . . . no. . . not this.  Not now. . ._ she wasn’t aware of her whispered pleas to a god that had forsaken her, to a monster without a soul, for a moment of compassion that would never come.  
  
Rough, calloused hands brushed across her broken and bleeding skin, smoothing over the puckered and pebbled softness, a low rumbling growl erupting from his chest as she shrunk away from him.  Sharp nails scored over her nipples, raising welts from illusory gentle hands.  Blood welled up from the marks left behind, pooling on her, running down the hills of her breasts toward her neck.  
  
The mattress dipped below his weight, as he settled between her legs, watching her try and close her thighs against him, words she didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand spewing from his mouth.  _No no no. . ._ her mind was screaming at her now, knowing instinctively that he was about to commit the final act of violation on her.    
  
Without further warning, his fingers shot straight into her core, dry thrusting into her, nearly lifting her ass from the bed.   
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Wesley and Giles were working tirelessly, trying to find a complete copy of the translation of the Romany text Jenny had made before she died, and trying to find a surgeon who was willing to travel to Sunnydale.  The night meeting he’d had with Lilah Morgan had been a miscalculation on his part, since Lilah had done nothing but try to recruit him for Wolfram & Hart from the moment he sat down in the restaurant.  It had disconcerted him no end, especially how she had phrased the offer.  He’d been so focused on obtaining assistance about the chip that she had caught him off guard when she pitched the idea.  Because of her demeanor, once Wesley got his bearings, he held off mentioning the purpose of his request for the meeting.  His guard had been up, his inherent suspicion of anything from Wolfram & Hart setting off enough warning bells that Wesley had just clammed up and held his tongue.  So that was one avenue of chip removal he refused to pursue further.  
  
According to rumors, or so Willie had said, Angelus and Drusilla had skipped town two weeks ago, searching for lost lambs.  Both men were afraid they were looking for the other members of the AI team, especially since they’d lost contact with Cordelia.  
  
She’d called a couple of times, checking in and letting them know she was safe.  Gunn had also called in, informing Wesley that he and Fred were hiding out in the underground of Los Angeles, living on the streets.  Even Lorne had checked in, from Las Vegas, where he was working in one of the casinos.  But nothing from Cordelia in a couple of days; which just increased Wesley’s distraction.  
  
The two Englishmen had just exhausted their last contact; the last surgeon on their list refusing to remove the chip.  They were sitting in Rupert’s office, neither one of them in the best of spirits.  
  
“Do we have a way of contacting The Initiative?”  Wesley’s voice finally broke the silence.  
  
Giles looked up from his contemplation of the text in front of him.  “I believe Buffy knows how to.  I tried to disassociate from that aspect of her life.”    
  
Wesley nodded, then got up to pace around the small space, “We’re going to have to tell them.  Might as well be tonight.”  
  
Rupert grimaced.  “Happy bloody Christmas.”  
  
“Indeed.  I take it this will not be received happily.”  
  
“Not likely.”  Giles feared that would be a gross understatement.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Willow was pacing outside the lecture hall.  Tara’s presence called out to her from behind the closed doors, though she had no idea if her sudden appearance was going to be welcomed.  _Doesn’t matter anyhow.  Don’t care.  Need to see her.  To feel her.  She’s mine.  My girl._  
  
The class broke and suddenly the hallway was full of people emerging, laughing, chattering, and going about their day.  Tara was one of the last to leave the lecture hall, surrounded by a group of smiling people Willow didn’t know.  Placing a hand up, Willow muttered “Mute,” and all the noise receded.  
  
“Hello, Tara.”  Willow’s voice was surprisingly controlled, none of her nervousness showing.    
  
“Willow.  How are you?”  Tara’s eyes shifted left and right, noting the sudden hush that fell over her study group.  Realizing it wasn’t natural, Tara stared at Willow, then said, “Release them, Willow, or this discussion will never get started.”  
  
Chastised, Willow complied.  “Can we go someplace to talk at least?”  
  
“What’s there to talk about?  You’ve changed, Willow – you aren’t the same girl I fell in love with.  And I’m not the same either.”  Tara moved out of the way of the passing students, stepping further away from Willow.  
  
“I’ve . . . I’ve been thinking and well, I guess you were right.  I should’ve asked for help, told you what I was planning.”  Willow played with the edges of her sleeves.  
  
“I suppose that’s an admission, but really, Willow, it’s not enough.”  Tara’s voice was cool, her personality almost wouldn’t allow for anything harsher, though there was a firmness that Willow hadn’t ever heard before.  
  
“What would be enough?”  Willow was at a loss.  
  
Tara was shaking her head.  “Until you figure that out, Willow, I can’t be around you.”  Taking pity on the girl she used to love, Tara smiled a bit.  “You have a lot of people that still care, but you need to figure stuff out.”  
  
With Willow sputtering in confusion, Tara tried one more time, “You hurt a lot of people, those same people that care.  You need to figure out what’s more important.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy looked up at the ceiling, every muscle loose and rubbery.  Daytime sex with Spike was the best, she decided.  Didn’t matter really what time of day, though there was something about him being inside her during the day that made her toes curl more than they normally did when she thought about Spike.  
  
She was flat on her back, Spike’s head nestled between her breasts, his arms curled around her protectively.  He was quiet, so quiet that she thought he might be asleep and she didn’t want to disturb him if he was.  _This is so comfy. . ._ Buffy shifted a bit, running a hand through his curls, her mind a bit blank.  She sighed and felt Spike reposition himself.  
  
His low voice rumbled out of him, “Wha’s wrong?”  
  
She rubbed hard into the spot at his nape, the one he loved for her to massage, saying, “Nothing.  Go back to sleep.”  
  
“You sure, kitten?”  His voice was so sleepy.  _I love that sound.  
_  
“Ah huh.  Pretty positive.”  She hugged him closer.  “Nothing’s wrong here.”  
  
“Mmmm.”  He nestled closer, a kiss brushing against her skin.  
  
“Spike?  What do you want for Christmas?”  Buffy’s hands stilled a bit, waiting for his answer.  
  
“Nothin’.  Already got more than I hoped for.  Don’t need anythin’.”  She could feel his eyelashes fluttering against her breast and the sensation caused Buffy to almost miss his words.  
  
“Not about what you need, silly.  Christmas is about getting something you want really badly and can’t get for yourself.”  She played some more with the hair at his neck, her fingers combing his curls.  
  
“Sunshine.  Got all that.  Got everythin’ I want right here.”  He paused, knowing this was a perfect opening to tell her what he suspected, but he hesitated, wondering if he should let her figure it out on her own.  
  
“C’mon, Spike, there has to be something you really want.”  Buffy knew she was pushing, but she wanted so badly to tell him what she was thinking. . .   
  
Spike lifted up to look down at her.  “Buffy.  Isn’t anythin’ I want that I don’t already have.”  He paused, his eyes intent up on her.  “Wha?”  
  
There was a look he’d never seen before on her – hope and fear and something else swirled in her green eyes.  “You sure there isn’t something else that you want?”  
 _  
Oh, she’s got something on her mind._   “All right, what is it?”  
  
She looked up at him shyly, unsure what to say now.  “Never mind.  I’ll just surprise you on Christmas.”  
  
“You sure?”  Spike nudged at her, seeking entrance into her depths again.  “C’mon, sunshine, tell me.”  
  
“Nope.  It’s gonna be a surprise.”  Buffy angled her hips, using her hot hand to guide him back inside her.  Her pussy contracted around him and Spike forgot what it was they had been talking about.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Oz caught up with Tara before she got to the bookstore where they were actually supposed to meet.  
  
“Hey.”  His voice startled her from her thoughts of Willow and Tara jumped in surprise.  
  
“Hey.”  He could see she was upset, though knowing her, she’d start talking before he asked, so he waited her out.  His patience was rewarded not moments later.  
  
“Ran into Willow just now.  I thought she was going to apologize, but she didn’t.  I really don’t know her the way I thought I did.”  
  
It was on the tip of his tongue to say something, though since Oz wasn’t sure waxing philosophical would work at the moment, so he kept silent.  
  
“You know she’s never once said she was sorry for any of it.  What she did.”  Tara sighed, smiling sadly.  “And she has no idea that I know what she did to Spike.”  
  
“Sometimes learning the hard way is the only way some people learn.”  Oz opened the shop’s door, letting Tara step through.  
  
“I guess.  It’s just hard watching it.”  She sighed, looking over her shoulder at the short man.  
  
“Always is.”  He pointed her toward the coffee bar and just like that the discussion was done.  
                                          
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
It was hours later, when Giles and Wesley were finally able to get a moment alone with Buffy and Spike to tell them about the last attempt at finding a surgeon.  
  
The two Watchers cornered them just before they left for patrol, as Giles was staying home with Dawn and Connor since Tara had study group and Wesley was going with them.  Since Drusilla’s first night, Spike had been adamant about someone else patrolling with them.  He didn’t want to take a chance of getting separated and one of them getting hurt.  He never voiced it, though Buffy knew he was thinking of two things, her getting overwhelmed by sheer numbers and Angelus deciding to use humans against them.  So she didn’t balk – much.  
  
They were heading out when Giles stopped them.  “Buffy?  Can you wait a moment?  I’ve got some news.”  
  
“What’s up?”  Buffy turned around, lifting her hair into a loose ponytail.  Spike was pulling on his duster and perked up at Giles’ tone.  
  
“Wesley and I contacted Dr. Sutter, the last surgeon on our list, in Canada.  I think I can safely say we’ve exhausted all possibilities here.  I don’t believe extending our search to Europe will have anything but similar results.”  He waited a beat, letting that news sink in before he spoke again.  “We could use a normal surgeon.”  
  
The blond couple shared a look, which neither of the other two could interpret.  Their silent  communication lasted longer than normal; and Giles was about to ask something when Spike growled and stormed from the house.  
  
It was Wesley’s quietly worded question that startled them.  “How long have you and Spike been mated?”  
  
Giles took off his glasses to peer closer at Buffy, spluttering out, “How?  When?  Why didn’t you say something?”  
  
Buffy stayed silent for a minute, an odd look on her face and as she heard the closing of the front door, she started talking.  Deciding to answer Wesley first, Buffy said, “About three weeks ago.”  Then she giggled and said, ‘Okay, it was the Thursday before Thanksgiving.”  
  
“Ah.”  Giles smiled, remembering the very strange things Buffy had done on Thanksgiving which now all made more sense.  “And you kept this to yourselves because?”  
  
“It’s private, Watcher.  Not somethin’ for the masses.”   He was suddenly leaning against the door, arms crossed and features set.  Spike’s stance and tone were a bit belligerent, though Giles had come to learn that was just the vampire being defensive.  Giles had expected something like this – been waiting for it actually and wasn’t really all that surprised.  
  
“Have you noticed any changes?”  He couldn’t help asking.  Curiosity and the need to chronicle were so ingrained he sometimes lost sight of when both traits became a bit offensive.  Spike grunted, not answering, but Buffy leaned over and thumped him.  
  
“We can sorta talk to each other.”  Buffy shot her mate a look, admitting, “Okay, Spike can talk.  I’m still working on the verbal.  But I can do pictures and emotions.  Go me!”  
  
“Spike, is that normal?”  Giles was warming up to the subject but was thrown for a loop at  the other Englishman’s answer.  
  
“Dunno.  Never done this before.”  Spike relaxed against the doorjamb, belligerence gone.   
  
“Never done this?  Weren’t you and Drusilla mates?”   He stopped speaking at the shake of both their heads.  _Well, that’s bloody news._   He’d thought for sure the two had been mated.  “The Watcher’s Diaries state that.”  
  
Spike’s snort of disgust was drowned out by Buffy’s incomprehensible grumble.  
  
“Should know by now, Rupes, those diaries aren’t always accurate.  Lots of things the Council doesn’t know about.”  Spike stepped closer to Buffy.  “Wankers haven’t a clue half the time.”  
  
Wesley stirred, folding his arms across his chest, remarking, “Indeed.  The Council has not been very forthcoming or accommodating in the past.”  
  
“Not sure I trust them at all.”  Was Buffy’s softly worded statement, while Spike stated calmly, “No reason to.  Haven’t done right by you at all.”  
  
She leaned back against him as his arm snaked around her waist and his lips brushed against her hair.  His next words brought them right back to the start of this conversation.  “So unless we go abroad, we’ve stalled, yeah?”  
  
“We’ve hit a brick wall, I’m afraid.”  Once more Giles and Wesley watched while the two communicated silently.  
  
Spike’s voice broke the silence, a deep sigh indicating his capitulation.  “Fine.  Call them.  ‘M not happy with it, but they put the bloody thing in there, they should be the ones takin’ it out.”  
  
He broke away from Buffy, signaling the end of his patience and, as far as he was concerned, the end of the conversation.  “C’mon, if you’re still comin’.  Night’s still young.”  
  
And he was out the door and down the steps before Wesley had even moved.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Oz was wrapping amp cords and putting away his equipment when he heard the first out of place rustlings.  It stopped when he stopped moving, so he knew there was someone in the practice space he and the rest of the band had rented.  Not to mention that he could smell whoever it was, he just didn’t recognize the signature.  
  
Working more quietly, Oz finished up his tasks, eager to get going and not liking the feeling of being watched.  The hackles on the back of his neck rose and Oz knew his control would slip the moment whoever it was showed.  Thinking quickly, Oz reached into his pocket and, trying to shield his movements from whoever was watching him, opened his cell phone and punched in a series of numbers.  
  
Hopefully, the elaborate system Giles had come up with would work and the signal would reach Buffy and Spike in time, and keep Tara away.  
  
There was no time to finish the message, because a low growl sounded from behind him and Oz closed the phone, slowly turning around to face the threat.  
  
Without a word, he began to morph, knowing he stood a far better chance of survival as the wolf.  His own answering growls reverberated around the enclosed space and Oz’ last fleeting rational thought was about the equipment that was about to be damaged.  
  
Growls and rumbles filled the air along with the screech and whine of destroyed electronic equipment.  Panting for breath, the werewolf crouched on all fours, waiting for his foe to return from the shadows.  A flicker of movement caught his attention and once again the two supernatural beings fought.  Two sets of canines ripped into skin, snarling and slashing.  
  
The vampire hadn’t expected this – hadn’t remembered this about the human at all – had imagined this one would be less of a challenge.  Yet he was more than holding his own against the master vampire.  
  
The vampire retreated again, hiding once more in the dark shadows, waiting for the werewolf to make a mistake.  Blood was running from various claw wounds and bite marks, though he’d managed to inflict his own damage because the wolf was favoring his left hid leg, blood matting the reddish fur.  
  
Using that knowledge, the vampire attacked on the left, trying to rip the wound open further.  But the wolf was prepared for this, and sprang for the vampire’s throat, its jaws sinking in, closing around the vampire’s throat and shaking.  
  
Growling deeply in growing fury, Angelus forced his fingers into the wolf’s mouth, prying it open and away from his flesh.  Something cracked and the wolf roared in pain, yowling and whimpering in fear.  
  
Unable to stay and finish the kill, the blood flowing too fast and strong from his own wounds, Angelus clamped a hand around his bleeding neck and fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from Aristotle as quoted by Diogenes Laertes in Lives of Eminent Philosophers


	25. Eye of the Hurricane

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter 25.  Eye of the Hurricane.  
   
  
Thou born to match the gale, (thou art all wings,)  
To cope with heaven and earth and sea and hurricane  
     Walt Whitman, To the Man-of-War-Bird    
  
Calm fell. From Heaven distilled a clemency;  
There was peace on earth, and silence in the sky;  
Some could, some could not, shake off misery:  
The Sinister Spirit sneered: It had to be!’  
And again the Spirit of Pity whispered, ‘Why?’   
    Thomas Hardy, And There Was a Great Calm   
  
The view from the hill looks bleak from where I stand  
The waters are come in unto my soul  
I can’t cry no more my eyes are bone dry sore  
There’s a river of tears flowing down to the sea  
  
I’m a desolate soul on a desolate shore  
Destined to walk alone  
Into the crucifix night  
The storm of a cross  
I live to love again and again  
All my life  
  
Oh eye of the hurricane  
I walk away in the wind and the rain  
Into the eye of the hurricane  
Face to face  
    The Alarm, Eye of the Hurricane, 1990  
**_  
  
  
  
“Look, I’m not chipper and cheery about this either.  So not wanting to trust the Initiative, but, Spike, it has to come out.”  
  
They’d been bantering back and forth for the better part of an hour, not really fighting, as far as Wesley could tell, although there were moments when it was abundantly clear Spike was not happy about using the Initiative.  Wesley, thanks to some late night sharing over pints, had the background on the situation, probably even more than Giles had.  Because Spike had been more forthcoming than usual that night, Wesley also knew what had transpired between Buffy and her former boyfriend.  
  
And while Spike couldn’t remember specifically if Riley had been present during some of the more twisted “experiments”; Wesley suspected Riley Finn had tested the vampire’s strength more than once.  So his sympathies weren’t even in doubt in this situation.  He didn’t want to subject Spike to more abuse at the hands of the military.  Which was why he opened his mouth when there was a lull between rounds of the verbal sparring match.  
  
“I’d like to be there to ensure nothing untoward happens.”  
  
Both blondes looked at him, one confused and the other, it appeared, more than relieved someone else picked up on his apprehension and distrust.    
  
“Why?”  Spike sighed.  Sometimes his woman was a bit too slow on the uptake.  
  
Wesley’s answer was quick.  “Because, like Spike, I don’t believe The Initiative would just willingly let him go once they have him again.”  Taking a deep breath and sharing a look over her head with his fellow ex-patriot, Wesley finished with, “Nor do I trust that your former companion won’t seek some sort of revenge while Spike is incapacitated.”  
  
The two Englishmen shared another look.  Wesley’s support meant more than Spike was willing to admit and he was reassured by the idea that someone other than Buffy was going to keep an eagle eye on the proceedings.  And not just any someone.  Spike had a healthy respect for Wesley that was more the beginnings of real friendship than anything else.  
  
Buffy was about to speak when three cell phones simultaneously chirped.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Tara was in the library of UC Sunnydale, studying for her last final, head immersed in abnormal psychology and oblivious to anything else, when her cell phone vibrated in her bag, making it jump across the table.  
  
Jumping a little herself, Tara grabbed her bag, and reached inside for the buzzing phone.  Looking down at the voice mail message, Tara rapidly packed up her things and with a hastily murmured “Sorry” to her study group, she got up and left the building.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Giles was just settling down to read, after putting Connor down, when his cell phone rang.  Fumbling for it, he heard Dawn’s door open, then the quick patter of her feet, and the thud of them hitting the stairs.  
  
“Giles?  Did your phone go off?”  Seeing the item in his hands, Dawn held up a hand, “Don’t bother.  It’s Oz.  Something’s wrong, because he didn’t finish the message.”  
  
“Yes, I see that.”  Giles checked his own, just in case, then snapped his head up.  “Go upstairs and check Connor.  I’ll get everything ready.”  
  
“What do you mean everything?”  Dawn watched him carefully, trying to figure out what he was going to do.  
  
“If he’s hurt, he’ll need transport to hospital.   I’m going to get the car.  See to the baby, please.”  Giles grabbed his coat, motioning Dawn toward the stairs.  
  
“Wouldn’t it be safer if Connor and I stayed here?”  She faced Giles from the stairs where she’d started ascending.  
  
He thought for a moment, weighing the options.  There was no way of knowing until they found out where he was, what the situation was.  “Perhaps waiting might be best.  Do you know where he was going to be tonight?”  
  
Dawn shrugged.  “Nope.”  
  
“Right then.  We’ll wait.  Dawn, check on the baby anyway.”  Giles motioned her toward the second floor, then shrugged out of his jacket.  
  
Placated that he wasn’t going to rush out, Dawn headed up the stairs.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Moving quickly from the library, Tara hit automatic dialer and got Spike on the first ring.  
  
“What do you know, Glinda?”  His voice was steady, no hint of anything going on other than him waiting for her phone call.  
  
“He’s rehearsing.”  Was her first statement.  
  
“Where?”  He motioned his companions to silence.  
  
“Not far from the college, one of the old converted warehouses on the end of Main Street.”  
  
“Which one?”  He moved closer to Buffy, letting her listen in.  
  
“Not sure.  Never been to rehearsal with him.”  Tara was using her intuition, letting her feet guide her in the right direction.  “I’d do a locator, but it would take too long.”  
  
“All right.  I’ll head over there with Buffy, an’ send Oxford for the wheels.”  Clicking off the phone, Spike indicated to Buffy and Wesley what Tara hadn’t said.  “We need to go now.  Got a hunch dogboy could use a hand.”  Pointing to himself and Buffy, he said, “We can get there faster without you.”  
  
“I’d best go for the car then, in case we need to get him to Sunnydale Memorial.  I’ll call Dr. Thomas, let him know we might be coming in.”  Wesley headed off toward the cemetery’s entrance, Buffy and Spike just behind him.  
  
“Oxford.  Watch your back.”  And with that the two blonds took off, running full out toward the warehouse district.  
      
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Tara closed her eyes after ending the phone call, inhaling deeply and centering herself.  She was worried about Oz, knowing the quiet man wasn’t the type to jump and send messages that were false alarms.  He was more likely to downplay any danger.  
  
Once she achieved a sense of calm, Tara thought to herself . . . and realized how incredibly vulnerable she was in the nearly deserted area between the college and the warehouse district.  Shaking her head at her own stupidity, Tara immediately cast the sunlight spell, sending the ball of sunshine up and over her head.  _There.  That will keep me safe for now._  
  
Reaching out her senses, Tara started off toward her left, following her intuition.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike, on the other hand, was using his knowledge of two things, the musical underground in Sunnydale and his sense of smell.  Not quite on a level with a werewolf’s, Spike’s heightened sense was enough to lead him unerringly to the rehearsal building, once he had a general location.  
  
Buffy was running alongside him, holding back because she was relying on his sense of smell, and she stole a glance over at him, noting he’d slipped into game face and was sporting a grimace.  
  
“Angelus was here.”  He ground out as they skidded to a halt outside a boxy-type former factory with a sliding metal door.  Taking note of the light rapidly approaching from their right, Spike slipped out of game face.  “Glinda’s here, pet.”  
  
Buffy swung her head to look and ran down the alleyway to meet her.  
  
Spike had slid inside before they returned, leaving the door partially opened. The interior lights were on, illuminating a plain hallway running parallel to the door, with perpendicular hallways and doors leading away from the front.  Spike was nowhere to be seen and not willing to speak out loud in case Angelus was still in the building, Buffy held a hand out to stop Tara and silently called out to Spike.  
  
His voice sounded in her head, “To your left, kitten, third hallway, ‘bout halfway down.”  
  
Motioning Tara to come with her, Buffy followed his instructions.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The room was a shambles.  Destroyed amps and ripped cabinets littered the floor, electronic cables and speaker wires were hanging from the ceiling.  Sparks flickered here and there and Spike grimaced when he passed a destroyed Stratocaster and the remains of Oz’ bass.  Stepping over the debris on the floor, he gingerly made his way methodically through the room.  
  
A low pain-filled groan caught his attention and Spike picked his way over to it.  Oz was on the floor, blood pooling beneath his injured leg, half morphed between wolf and man.  Knowing he could smell his presence, Spike kneeled down, talking quietly.  “All right, mate, it’s jus’ Spike.  Girls are on their way.  Gonna get you to hospital.”  
  
Looking back over his shoulder, he called out, “Slayer, need to get Oxford here.”  
  
Turning his attention back to the werewolf beside him, Spike asked, “Where else you hurt?”  
  
Oz turned his eyes to Spike, growling softly and trying to get the words out, but could only gasp, “Ribs . . .leg . . . jaw.”  
  
“Right then.  Don’t talk.”  Spike leaned over, checking the wound on his left leg.  Grabbing Oz’ ripped shirt, Spike tied off the wound, slowing the bleeding.  
  
Buffy and Tara were behind him, leaning over his shoulder, surveying the damage to Oz.  Placing her hand on Spike’s shoulder, Buffy said, “Wesley’s almost here.  He called Dr. Thomas, they’re waiting for us to get there.”  
  
Tara knelt down on the other side, her hand on Oz’ injured jaw.  “Relax.  We’re gonna get you out of here.”  
  
Lifting her eyes to Spike, Tara asked, “Can you lift him without jarring his ribs?”  
  
Obviously the girls had heard their conversation, and Spike nodded.  “Can try.  Should be okay.”  Looking down at Oz, Spike queried, “You ready?”  
  
“Yeah.”  Oz barely nodded, but Spike was already lifting him up, trying not to jostle him overly.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Wesley pulled up in Joyce’s Jeep, the back seat already down and a blanket on the floor.  He was waiting at the back when the four of them emerged from the warehouse.  At first glance Oz looked nearly dead, though on a second look, he was semi-alert and responsive.  Spike carried him easily, the girls trailing behind him.  Buffy jumped up into the back of the Jeep and Spike passed his burden off, then hopped up in beside her.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Hours later, when Spike crawled into bed beside her, Buffy rolled right into his arms, nuzzling against his bare skin.  “How is he?”  
  
“All right.”  Wrapping his arms around her, Spike whispered, “Well, he will be once he’s asleep.”  
  
She had gone to bed before him, inexplicably tired, leaving the three Englishmen to sit up with Tara while she watched over Oz.  Dr. Thomas had patched him up, setting his jaw, wiring it closed, then wrapped his ribs and sent him home after stitching up his leg.  By mutual agreement and despite his aunt’s protests otherwise, they’d brought Oz back to Revello Drive.  
  
It was nearing daybreak when Spike came up to bed and Buffy hadn’t slept well or deeply, tossing and turning, unable to sleep despite the fatigue that was weighing down her muscles.  Connor too, had spent a fitful night and he was back in his own bed after spending a few hours in with Buffy.  
  
“Go back to sleep, kitten.”  Spike ran his hand over her from shoulder to hip, raising gooseflesh in his wake.  
  
“Don’t wanna sleep.”  She nibbled at the hollow of his shoulder, her hands holding onto him.  “Spike?”  
  
“Yeah?”  His voice was low and husky, his hands making idle patterns on her skin.  
  
“Hold me, please?”  She sounded like such a little girl, like she had months ago when she’d first come back, that it shook him out of his lethargy.  
  
“You okay, sunshine?”  Angling down to look at her, Spike saw the fear she was doing her best to hide.  “What’s this then?”  
  
“Dunno.  Just thinking about when you got hurt, I guess.”  She shrugged, hiding her eyes from him.  
  
Spike licked his marks, his tongue raspy against her soft skin.  “Don’t need to be worryin’ ‘bout me, ‘m fine an’ once this bloody chip is gone we’ll be fine.”  
  
He heard her sniffles then felt the soft wash of a few tears that slid down her cheek.  Spike wasn’t entirely certain what had prompted this reaction from her, but it wasn’t something he’d expected.  Rolling her onto her back, Spike hiked up the flimsy slip of lace she was wearing, his hands strong and firm around her hips.  Nudging his way between them, Spike slid inside her warm depths.  
  
Silken heat surrounding him, Spike thrust slowly in, then pulled out a bit.  Buffy whimpered at his retreat, her hands holding onto his ass, forcing him back in.  “Love you, kitten. . . I do.”  
  
“Me too. . .” She stared up into his eyes, smiling a little when he licked the tears from her skin, letting small wisps of laughter escape when his fingers tickled her sides.  “Spike, stop.  C’mon.”  
  
Grinning down at her, he surged up inside her, hitting the spot that made her breathing hitch and gasp.  The pressure built slowly, murmured words mixed with drugging kisses, her legs wrapped around him, holding him there. “Oh. . .”  
  
Rolling through them the orgasm grew until they were both gasping for air, cool lips soothing the raging heat of her body.  “Spike . . . oh god. . .”  
  
“Stay with me, love . . . come with me. . .” His hands gripped her shoulders, fingers digging into tender skin, his forehead resting on hers.  “Need you . . . always. . . fuck. . . oh god. . .” He groaned into her mouth, breathing with her.  
  
“Now. . . tha’s it . . . fuckin’. . .” Buffy whimpered, tightened around him, her entire body convulsing, contracting, arching up into his.  Spike ground into her, pumping hard, gasping out her name, exploding in her depths.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Angelus limped his way back to the mansion, battered and bleeding from his battle with the werewolf.  _Well, that had been a surprise.  Not a pleasant one either._   He didn’t remember if he’d ever heard about the boy being a werewolf.  
  
Drusilla was waiting for him, lounging against the fireplace, her latest pet bound at her feet, both women naked and waiting for him.  “What happened, Dearest?  Did the nasty doggie get you?”  
  
He slumped against the wall, blood congealing down his chest and throat, thick and clotted.  “Dru. . .”  
  
His raspy voice was harsh, the sounds alone enough to hurt.  “Come here, Daddy, I’ve got what you need.”  
  
Tugging on the chain that held the girl in place, Drusilla stood up and closed in on Angel.  “Poor Daddy. . . all battered and torn.”  
  
“Shall I clean you?”  Suiting action to words, Drusilla dipped her head and licked a path through the clotted mess at Angel’s neck.  “Mmmmmm lovely messy.”    
  
The girl at her feet whimpered, drawing their attention.  Angel growled, his need for fresh blood overriding his need to have Drusilla writhing beneath him.  Pulling on the leash in Drusilla’s hand, Angel brought the girl to her feet.  Grinning, yet reeling from the blood loss and pain, Angel fell on the girl’s neck, his fangs sliding easily into her jugular.  
  
Nearly draining the girl dry, Angel let her drop from his hold, stepped over her slumped form, then, with Drusilla trailing behind him, Angel strode from the room.  
  
Bypassing the bathroom, Angel walked into his bedroom.  Looking at the girl tied up in his bed, the big vampire smiled, his grin stretching across his features and crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “Hello, Cordy.  Miss me?”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Connor woke her not long after Spike had fallen asleep, his cool body wrapped around hers protectively.  Spike was so very . .  touchy-feely, affectionate even.  He was spoiling her rotten, if she thought about it for a minute.  Every time he went out, he came back with something, even if it was just something she liked to eat.  _Come to think of it, it was mostly chocolate he brought home, even on poker nights._ And he brought home something for the other girls too, at least once a week.  
  
Lifting Connor up from his crib before his cries could escalate into earsplitting howls for his bottle, Buffy made her way downstairs to the kitchen.  It was still fairly early, barely seven thirty in the morning, well, early if most of the household were nocturnal, which it was. Dawn had gotten up on time and left for school, as her note and lack of presence indicated and Tara was still downstairs, watching over Oz.  Wesley and Giles must have gone back to the apartment they were sharing, although as she peeked out the back door, she spied Wesley sleeping on the lawn furniture, so Giles must still be around.  
  
It took bare minutes to fill and warm Connor’s bottle and the entire time she kept up a running monologue to the attentive infant.  He really was a cute baby, thankfully looking more like his mother than his father.  Buffy wondered what on earth she might have been thinking there.  Angel was not really a gorgeous man, not that looks were everything, though he wasn’t bad looking either.  And yet, in a comparison between the vampires she’d loved, Angel came out a way distant second.  The vampire sleeping upstairs was far and away the better man and not just looks wise.  
  
Before she jumped, before Glory, life –  at least hers –  had been bathed in absolutes; colors of black and white, good and evil, right and wrong, sometimes  charged with red.  Since returning – since she’d been ripped from heaven, life had been. . . all about shadings, nuances – everything in the in-between.  The grey.  Nothing was absolute anymore, nothing carved in stone. Well, there was one constant, one thing she could rely on and trust that it wasn’t going to disappear. . . to fade in the harsh light of day or disappear under the glow of perfect happiness.  
  
Buffy brushed a kiss over Connor’s forehead, words tumbling unchecked from her lips, unaware and uncaring that she’d garnered an audience.  “Yup.  Your real daddy is a jerk, you know, just a big old dumb jerk.  Can’t love without a soul, which kinda makes you wonder what he was like when his heart beat.  But we’re not gonna think about him, nope. Nah huh.  Coz he’s just not worth it.”  Another kiss dropped down on his head and Buffy swore he smiled at her around the nipple.  
  
“Oh, but your new daddy . . . I guess the real one . . .”  Buffy’s voice faltered for a moment, then went on, “He’s different.  Crazy, but different.  Don’t think there’s anything he wouldn’t do . . . he didn’t leave when I was gone.  Stayed to take care of our Dawnie.  And he doesn’t need a soul to do good things.  How come he doesn’t?  I think . . . dunno what to think sometimes . . . he just . . . he takes my breath away.  He loves me so much. . . he loves all of us so much, even you.”  
  
Connor’s hand reached up toward her mouth, his fingers pulling and touching her and Buffy automatically kissed each one of the tiny digits.  “Promise you won’t tell anyone?  It’s a secret, so  you have to promise not to tell anyone, okay?”  
  
In the back of her mind, Buffy knew how ridiculous it looked, carrying on a conversation with a two month old infant, but she didn’t care.  Lifting him higher, Buffy whispered her secret against his skin, too low for anyone else to hear, even the vampire watching her from the shadows of the hallway.  
  
“See why you had to promise?  That’s my good boy.  I knew I could trust you.”  A watery giggle escaped from her when Connor looked up at her and smiled.  “Oh you did. . . you smiled at Buffy.  Yes, you did.  C’mon, give mommy Buffy another one, c’mon, Connor boy, you can, yes you can.”  Her voice lost its serious tone, lilting with almost laughter.  
  
To Spike’s ears and eyes, Buffy looked happier than he’d seen her in a very long time.  Completely alone with the baby, she dropped the defenses she always carried, the worries and cares of being the Chosen One.   
  
The tiny nightshirt she wore over the minuscule nightgown did nothing to decrease his need for her, in fact, it just served to whet his appetite, though for the moment he was content to just watch her, to listen to her with their surrogate son.  
  
Didn’t matter how Connor came into their lives, he was theirs.  They’d both claimed him it seemed, if going by her statements to the baby were any indication.  He leaned a shoulder against the wall, his eyes intent upon the two in the kitchen.  She wasn’t even aware of his presence, her every sense focused on the baby in her arms.  He’d never have pegged her as the maternal type, but thinking about it, it made a weird sort of sense.  What set her apart from the other slayers he’d known was the depth of her heart – her love – her capacity for it.  
  
She might’ve feared, just after her mother had died that she was losing her heart, but the truth was, it wasn’t that she _couldn’t_ love, it was that she was _afraid_ to love.  Buffy loved with everything she had and when it wasn’t reciprocated fully she was hurt in equal measure.  He was brought back from his musings by the sound of her light laugh and her words.  
  
“There’s daddy Spike’s big boy.  You burp like a champ.”  She giggled again and the sound was pure sunshine.  
  
He must’ve moved or made some sort of sound, because she became aware of him, standing there watching the two of them.  Turning around to look at him, Buffy’s breath caught in her throat.  Spike was leaning against the wall, his legs crossed at the ankles, black jeans riding decadently low on his hips, the buttons only half done, arms crossed over bare chest, eyes sleepy and curls wild and disheveled, tousled from his short sleep.  _And all that is mine . . . gah._  
  
She gasped for air, her eyes drinking in his form.  “How . . . how long have you been watching me?”  
  
“Woke up missing you.”  Was all he said as he pushed away from the wall.  
  
Buffy met him halfway, drawn to him by the love in his bottomless blue eyes.  His hands flexed around her hips, his breath washing over her.  His voice, when he spoke, was husky, raising gooseflesh and sending her every nerve into overdrive.  “Come back to bed with me, sunshine.”  
                              
Without waiting for her response, Spike lifted them both up into his arms, heading back upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from that Welsh group, The Alarm from the album of the same name


	26. A soundless calm descends

_**Book Two.  
  
Chapter 26.  A soundless calm descends  
  
  
Lightning makes shadows in the storm.   
Nightmare and bliss tell the silent truth.  
    Thelonius, Shadows in the Storm (1988)  
  
The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift.  
The road is forlorn all day.  
    Robert Frost, A Line–Storm Song.  
  
But, first a hush of peace—a soundless calm descends;  
The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends;  
Mute music soothes my breast—unuttered harmony,  
That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me.   
    Emily Brontë, The Prisoner**_  
  
  
  
  
  
The chirp of his cell phone woke him from his much needed sleep.  For a long moment, Wesley wasn’t sure of his surroundings, but as wakefulness crept up on him, the memories from last night stole through him.  
  
Transporting Oz to and from hospital hadn’t proved a problem at all; It was the in-between and the after that was a problem.  Caught in mid-morph, frozen by the pain, Dr. Thomas hadn’t been able to set his jaw until the poor guy had been drugged.  It had taken triple the amount of painkillers – based on normal human physiology and even then, Oz still sported claws and fur.  At least his mouth had reverted to almost human proportions.  Dr. Thomas hadn’t wanted to give him more drugs, afraid it would impede his healing or render him comatose.  
  
Tara had, unsurprisingly, insisted on bringing him back to Revello Drive, and no one had really objected.  Settling him in the basement, amidst Tara’s things had almost gone unnoticed, although Giles had cautioned that it might be necessary to chain him.  Again Tara had objected, insisting that it wasn’t necessary since Oz wouldn’t hurt her and, to prove her point, she’d climbed into bed beside him.  
  
Giles was still downstairs with them, keeping an eye on Oz’ progress and he’d come out to watch the sunrise.   Wesley realized he must’ve fallen asleep sometime before the sun actually rose, because he’d missed it completely.  
  
It must have been cold this morning, because the blanket. . . _wait a moment.  I didn’t bring a blanket out with me. . ._ Wesley reached for his cell phone, distractedly wondering about the mysterious presence of the blanket.  
  
“Yo, English.”  Gunn’s deep voice greeted him.  
  
“Hello, Charles.”  He winced, realizing he sounded barely awake and suddenly aware of an annoying crick in his neck.  
  
“Checking in.  Haven’t heard from Cordelia, man, I’m starting to get worried.”  
  
It had been on Wesley’s mind also.  She hadn’t gone more than two days without checking in, although now it had been close to five days since he’d heard from her.   Wesley was very worried that something had happened and Cordelia was lost to them.  
  
“No word then?”  He knew his question was going to have a negative response, but he needed to ask nonetheless.  
  
“Nope.  Nothing.”  Gunn turned aside to address a remark to Fred, no doubt, and Wes waited until he was done.    
  
“Very well, we’re going to start looking.  Hopefully, she’s still . . .”  His voice trailed off as he realized that hope was a very elusive commodity at the moment.  
  
“Yeah.  I getcha.  Lemme know if you need any backup.”  Gunn had an idea where Wesley had gone, though he didn’t want to say out loud where they were in case someone over heard.   
  
“Probably won’t be necessary.  My resources are more than adequate, though I shall let you know if we require your aid.”  Wesley was about to disconnect when Gunn’s wry amusement stopped him.  
  
“Dude, why you always sound like you swallowed a dictionary?”  
  
Despite his worry about Cordelia, Wesley smiled.  “Properly spoken English is never out of place.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.  Just find Cordy.”  Gunn clicked off, leaving Wesley to figure out how to find Cordelia.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Giles had gone upstairs earlier, when Dawn had still been home, her footsteps disturbing his light slumber.  Tara knew he was worried, concerned for her and wary of what a wounded werewolf might do in the throes of drugged pain.  But she wasn’t worried.  Oz wouldn’t hurt her, not even an out-of-his-head Oz.  
  
She trusted him.  Trusted him probably the way Buffy trusted Spike; that no matter what or how bad the pain got he wouldn’t ever hurt her, because he loved her.  
  
Tara didn’t delude herself into thinking it was the same kind of love, because Spike and Buffy definitely had a groiny thing going on and while sometimes she was curious, it just wasn’t filled with passion.  
  
Oz whimpered in pain and Tara ran a hand over his arm, soft, soothing murmurs sounding in the still air.  She’d managed to snatch some sleep here and there, mostly when he’d been out cold and it was enough for now.  Once he was out of the woods, she’d be able to completely surrender to sleep, but until then she’d manage.  
  
Six months ago, if someone had told her, hell, if she’d dreamed this clairvoyently, she wouldn’t have believed any of it.  Willow gone from her life – after playing god – Buffy and Spike a happy couple – and Oz as her, well, pretty much her best friend.  Yet this was her life.  
  
This was her family.  One vampire, one Slayer, a werewolf, a witch – Tara stifled the giggle that was threatening.  Her life sounded like a title from the Chronicles of Narnia or a weird adjunct to Harry Potter.  She suddenly wondered if one of them should write all this up and somehow get it published as fiction, because most people wouldn’t believe it. _Maybe I’ll be able to get Spike to do it, ‘coz he’s got a way with words.  I’m sure he could do something like this._  
  
Her companion groaned again and Tara watched him wince in pain.  Her hand rested on his chest and Oz’ eyes flickered opening barely to focus on her.  His hand clasped hers, their fingers entwining and he closed his eyes in relief.  Tara smiled, settled in beside him  and waited until he drifted back into restless sleep.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Two floors over her head, Spike had just put Connor down in his crib; letting the boy watch the mobile the girls bought him last week.  He thought it was a ridiculous thing, but was secretly pleased, because it was some educational black and white thing with bright splashes of red.  None of the girls had said anything, though he knew this silly thing had been picked with him in mind.  
  
Which was kind of gratifying, in a way, yet still more than a bit silly.  _They should’ve picked it with the sprog in mind, not me._ Trailing a hand over the boy’s legs, Spike tickled him and then focused on the blond watching him.  She had a smile on her face and Spike raised an eyebrow in question.  As answer, she crooked a finger at him and as he stalked in her direction, Buffy giggled.  
  
“Not supposed to laugh at your mate, sunshine.”  He faked a bit of a pout and Buffy sighed.  
  
“No?  Why not?”  She watched him come closer, her eyes focused on his face, drinking in his expression.  
  
He pounced on the bed, trapping her underneath him.  “Coz, kitten.  He’s the Big Bad an’ he’ll eat you up for laughin’.”  
  
Her breath caught on his words, his expression no longer playful.  “Oh, you will?”  
  
Spike pushed up her nightgown with one hand, his fingers inching toward her warm center, his mouth at her neck, brushing over his marks.  “Yeah,” he breathed against her, “yeah.  Eat you all up.”  
  
Two fingers slid inside her, Buffy gasping into his cheek, her hands looking for a way to hold onto him.  “Oh. . . yeah. . . hhmmmm.”  
  
Buffy pushed at his jeans, her warm hands scrabbling to free him from the confining denim.  “Now. . . c’mon. . .”  
  
Trailing his slick fingers up beneath the lace, Spike licked the salty skin of her neck, his fangs grazing over the scarred marks and Buffy writhed against him.  “Spike, please. . . don’t tease me.”  
  
“Not teasin’ . . .  Love you.”  His erection popped free, seeking her warmth.  “Need you baby. . . so. . . yeah. . . that’s it.”  He slid inside, both of them gasping for air, panting with the effort to hold back.  She was living warmth, surrounding him in heat and sunshine.   “Love you, beautiful girl, I do.”  
  
“Love you back.”  He froze in mid-thrust, his eyes riveted on her eyes.  Buffy stared back at him, not flinching from the sudden intensity in his laser bright blue eyes.  
  
Spike couldn’t speak, couldn’t focus on anything but her eyes.  There was no hiding, for either of them.  His heart was laid bare, equally to hers.  Buffy flexed around him, her hips moving involuntarily.  “Do you . . . say it.”  His voice was a hush, a bare whisper of sound.  
  
Her lips quirked, almost like she was going to tease him, but then she took a deep breath, gathering her courage and, looking deeply into his eyes, she whispered, “Love you, Spike.”  
  
His head dropped down, his forehead against her lips, shielding his eyes from her.  Gruff with emotion, Spike said, “Once more.  Say it.”  
  
She almost laughed from sheer nerves.  Blowing out a breath, Buffy said, “Look at me.”  Spike lifted his eyes to hers, tears pooling in his cerulean depths.  Her smile took his breath away and he smiled at her.  “Love you.”  
  
“Oh god . . . bloody hell, kitten, I love you, I do.”    
  
Cool lips curled over her face, words of love murmured over her.  His hips pumped into her, his cock bumping into her, thumping against the spongy bundle of nerves, driving her into oblivion.  Her body arched up, her inner walls clutching at him, milking him hard.  “Love you, love you. . . good . . . fuckin’ hell. . . yeah.  I love you.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Time had no meaning.  Daylight meant nothing.  Night brought pain, not relief.  Pain was constant, measured in breaths, her sense of self gone.  
  
Cordelia had stopped crying – after Angel had raped her repeatedly, ignoring her feeble attempts to beat him off – taking her brutally, ripping into her, splitting her asunder.  Blood and other fluids dripped from her vagina and her ass, pooling on the mattress below her body.  Cuts adorned her, most of the newer, fresher ones still bleeding sluggishly and the scent of blood was thick in the air around her.  She couldn’t breathe without taking it in, the scent of it pervading everything, clogging her nostrils and throat.    
  
It was easy now to slip away, to lose herself some place where her mind disconnected from her body, getting free of the pain.  Beyond caring about anything, she focused only on the ceiling above her, her mind blank.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy was swimming toward waking when she realized two things.  The first was a rolling sense of something being very off and the second was that there was approximately one hundred and sixty seven pounds of dead weight in the middle of her back.  While the feeling of Spike laying on her was normally comforting and something she didn’t even think twice about, however at this particular moment, it was causing a tiny bit of distress.  She was face down on the bed, some of the pillows below her head and one wrapped up in her arms and Spike was laying almost fully on top of her, his arms right next to hers and his head resting on her shoulder.  The reason why this wasn’t okay was the icky feeling in her belly.  Telling herself it was just nerves didn’t actually work and the unease grew until it became imperative for her to disturb the vampire sleeping on her.    
  
“Spike.”  No movement.  “Spike, wake up.”   Wiggling a little bit to try and jostle him awake, Buffy tried again, “C’mon, Spike, get off me.”    
  
Again, there was less than no reaction.  Having a mate that slept like the dead was not always a good thing.  Spike didn’t require a whole lot of sleep, but when he did sleep it was deeply and fully, pretty much the way he did everything.  Grumbling a bit louder, Buffy tried moving around to dislodge him.  “C’mon, you big oaf.  Get off me.”    
  
The weird queasy feeling was getting worse and she really needed to pee also, making her desire to slide out from under him very necessary.  Shifting her elbow and shoulder, Buffy succeeded in moving him a little bit, enough to get his head off her right shoulder and onto the exact middle of her back.  By small increments, Buffy was able to wriggle out from under his hold and she slipped from the bed and hightailed it into the bathroom.  
  
Once there, she wasn’t sure which was more urgent, the need to pee or the overwhelming need to calm her belly.  She hesitated, nearly bouncing from foot to foot, then realized what she was doing and blew an exasperated breath out in frustration with herself.  _Blond much?  Geez, just pee already!_  
  
Laughing at herself, Buffy did exactly that, then fought the nausea that crested up in her throat.  _Ugh.  Uh oh.  This is soooo not good.  Gonna. . ._ Leaning over the sink, Buffy gagged, holding back the bile that was rising.  _Ew.  Just, not good.  Why do I feel like this?  Did I pick up some weird bug?  
_  
Rinsing her mouth after flushing the toilet and washing her hands, Buffy faced herself in the mirror.  She didn’t look any different, there weren’t any dark circles under her eyes and no sign of anything else wrong, other than a tired look in her eyes.  But lately that look was there all the time, so she didn’t think anything of it.  _Fatigue is my friend_ , she thought, _always hanging around._   So much was going on, their life was really complicated, and getting tougher by the day.  Her sleeping patterns had been off for weeks, since Connor’s arrival almost, because she had been sleeping on a similar pattern to Spike’s.  But now, because the baby was up earlier than was permissible by god, she had to get up with him and make sure he was fed.  She’d been surviving mostly on stolen naps and stamina, but it appeared that had all caught up with her.    
  
Heading back into the bedroom, Buffy watched as Spiked rolled over and buried his face into the pillow she’d abandoned in her desperation to reach the bathroom.  His purring growl rolled through the room like thunder and she smiled a bit at his possessiveness.  Connor stirred again in the crib and Buffy was tempted to leave him there, but she changed her mind as she neared the infant and smelled his diaper.  Another wave of nausea surged up and it was all she could do to lift him up.  “Oh, C-man, what is this in your pants?  Ugh.  Baby boy, this is stinky.”    
  
Making quick work of cleaning him up, Buffy then ran downstairs to get him a bottle.  There was stirring in the living room, which she deliberately ignored and made quick time getting Connor back upstairs and into bed with her and Spike.  She needed to sleep.  Everything else, including Oz, could wait until she felt better.  Scooting into the bed beside Spike, Buffy curled an arm around Connor and propped up the bottle with one hand, closing her eyes.  The sleeping vampire shifted, rolled over and wrapped his arm around her, his head once more in the crook of her neck.  Sighing once, Buffy leaned down and kissed the top of Connor’s head, settling back against Spike and was asleep before the baby had finished half the bottle.  
  
  
           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Willow was pacing around her bedroom, her eyes narrowed in concentration.  She’d waited outside Tara’s lecture hall this morning, hoping for a glimpse of her former girlfriend, to no avail.  The honey-blond girl hadn’t been in class this morning, in fact, according to someone in her study group, she’d abruptly left them all last night in the library, without so much as more than a single word.  
  
She knew what called her away.  Well, knew _who_ it had been.  Had to be Spike or Buffy needing Tara’s help for some slayage emergency.  It was aggravating.  They were always interfering in her plans, in things she wanted and it was time it stopped.  _Can’t have those two messing up my life anymore.  It’s all their fault anyway._   _Spike with his false over-protectiveness and meanness and hey! Evil vampire there, no soul to make his all-judgy-ness anything near being right.  And Buffy with her **oh I need Spike** and **Spike is good now** and **spells and magic are bad**. . ._   Willow pivoted on a heel, unaware she was gesturing wildly, her voice a soft sneering whine in the stillness of her room.  A _nd what’s with the Oz thing?  Why was Tara all with the hanging with Oz and Oz?  Neither one of them was . . . Tara was gay, and not liking of men so. . . and. . .  
_  
Huffing out a deep breath, Willow tried to gather the threads of her agitation and mold them into something more manageable, something she could use, but there were too many targets for her ire.  
 _  
Buffy.  Spike.  Tara.  Oz.  Oh, yeah, and Angel._   Damn people just kept getting in her way.  _Giles_.  Willow pursed her lips, an idea beginning to form in her head.   It worked once, maybe a second time would be the charm.      
  
 _All I need to do is figure out how I’m going to get it done. . .  And once I have that, everything else will take care of itself._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Making his way into the kitchen, Wesley tried weighing his options, trying to figure out who he should discuss his worries about Cordelia with first.  Time was crucial.  If she was merely missing and out of cell phone range that was one thing; but there was a real niggling fear in his heart that it wasn’t something so simple.  Angel and Drusilla had left Sunnydale briefly, only returning the other night.  And Cordelia was missing.    
  
The two were tied together.    
  
If Cordelia was being held by the two vampires, time was of the essence.  They couldn’t leave her in their hands.  Not if he called himself her friend, not if he cared anything for her.    
  
Standing at the kitchen counter, his eyes staring out into the neighbor’s yard, Wesley’s sense of foreboding grew exponentially.  He knew, in his gut, that Cordelia was in grave danger.  Time to rally the troops.    
  
Putting the kettle on and getting the coffee pot ready, Wesley opened one of the cabinets and figured he might as well get a substantial lunch together as he was waiting for the occupants of the house to begin the day.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Contrary to what she thought, Spike wasn’t very deeply asleep.  He was swimming in and out of wakefulness, aware of sounds and movements, he was tired; as tired as she was, though he was being lazy and not getting up when he heard Connor rustling about, and very unwilling to deal with the smell the infant was emitting.  So when she climbed back into bed, Spike curled around her and fell back further into sleep once he knew she was there.   
  
His arms snaked around her, left hand sliding up underneath the nightgown, holding onto her breast and his other worming its way beneath her head.  Spike nuzzled the back of her neck and unconsciously registered her slowing heartbeat and breathing and also the faster rhythms of the infant beside her.  In the recesses of his mind, Spike was aware this was far more domestic than he’d ever thought he’d be, moments like these not even in the scope of his understanding as a human.  Victorian families did not sleep all jumbled together like this, at least those of his social standing; Vampires, on the other hand were essentially solitary, although he and Drusilla had often slept entwined, he knew of nests where all the vampires slept together like puppies.    
  
He also knew that he would not trade these moments for anything.  Moments like this, when he and Buffy were twined about each other, were worth any price he had to pay.  He also felt closer to her than he’d ever felt to any other being.  He wanted to crawl inside her skin and stay within her forever.  Opening one eye, Spike gauged the time of day by the light filtering in behind the dark curtains.  Soft noises reached his ears from downstairs and he knew someone else had to be up and around.  It was just a little bit after noon and he knew the sprog would be looking for something to eat and he could get up and put him back in his crib, but Spike didn’t want to leave the warmth of his own bed.    
  
His hand flexed around Buffy’s breast and he smirked sleepily when she shifted in his embrace.  A smile played about his lips and his hips thrust against the warmth of her ass, his erection insistently nudging her.  Buffy’s arm left its spot over the baby and curled around to lay on his thigh.  Sliding his thigh between both of hers, Spike let his hand drop down to cover her bare mound, moving aside her hand.  His fingers teased the curls shielding her pussy and she arched toward his hand like the kitten he called her.  His unnecessary breathing sped up, as he drank in the scent of her arousal.  Parting the folds of her core, Spike let two fingers brush around her clit, tantalizing both of them.   She was so wet and warm, it always astonished him just how much – and how very different their temperatures were.  Here, as he dipped into her, was where it showed most.  Within her depths, in the heat and slippery dampness that coated his fingers better than a second skin, was where it mattered most, where it manifested.  A whimpering mewl escaped her mouth and she breathed out his name in a hush.  Dark navy blue eyes fluttered open, watching her arch up into his questing fingers, her body knowing, responding to his touch even in her sleep.  
  
Spike leaned closer, his mouth against her shoulder, blunt teeth nipping and pulling on her skin, his tongue licking patterns between each bite.  Buffy let loose a breathy moan, which made him harden more.  His cock was hard and heavy, his hips angling between her legs, the tip of his cock sliding between her ass and her pussy.  He wanted inside . . . wanted to be buried . . . wanted her warm liquid depths to swallow him whole.   
  
“Open up for me, little girl . . . c’mon, lemme in.”  His voice was another caress across her skin, his hands creating magic within her.  Buffy slowly reached behind her, cupping his head, languidly moving toward his touch.    
  
“Mmmmm.”  Her eyes fluttered, fighting against the need to watch what he was doing, wanting to savor his touch without distraction.  A hard bite sent shock waves through her and Buffy couldn’t fight him any longer when his fingers plunged into her depths simultaneously.  “Spike. . . oh. . .”  
  
She breathed out heavily, when his tongue and teeth pulled away from her skin and a cool breath wafted over the bites.  His thumb brushed over her clit, once, twice and pressed down hard on the third, sending a jolt through her.  “C’mon, baby. . . lemme in.”  
  
 _Oohhh. . he called me baby. . . never. . . oh.  Baby._   Buffy cracked open one eye and found two little blue eyes peeking up at her.  She froze, her body stiffening up under his touch.  _Oh no.    Nuh huh.  This is not happening.  I’m so not doing this with him in the bed with us._  
  
He didn’t notice at first that she had frozen under his hands, but when she pushed him away a bit, Spike growled.  “Wha?  Buffy?”    
  
“We can’t.  Just can’t.  I can’t do this right now.”  Spike growled again and Buffy started babbling.  “No.  He’s watching me.  I mean us.  He’s awake and I can’t.”    
  
Spike leaned up on his hand, almost dumping her on the mattress.  “What the fuck do you mean, he’s watching?”   His head swivelled around looking for an intruder.  
  
It took her a minute to get his attention, because his gaze was sweeping all around the room.  His eyes were narrowed on the door, but it was closed, and he shifted his gaze to the window.  “No one’s watching, kitten.  Now what the hell are you blathering about?”  
  
Wordlessly, she grabbed his face and tilted his head down toward the mattress, and after a moment, Spike focused on what she was showing him.  Connor had dropped the bottle and his eyes sparkled when Spike looked at him and a baby grin crossed his features.  The vampire looked from Buffy to Connor and back again, before it dawned on him what Buffy had been saying.  A leer formed on his lips and a definitely wicked twinkle sparkled in his eyes.  “Spawn won’t know what’s going on.  Won’t care either.  C’mon, kitten, lemme in.”  
  
“Are you crazy?”  Buffy spluttered as his hand snaked up under her nightgown, his fingers brushing across her mound.  “Spike. . . no.    No way.  Not while he’s. . . Spike!”  She shrieked out that last bit, when he pushed his fingers inside her wet core.  
  
“C’mon, kitten. . . need you so much.”  He watched her face, knowing she was wavering and one more touch, one more kiss would put her over the edge where she didn’t care any longer, where it wouldn’t matter if there was a marching band trooping through their room.  Connor’s flailing arm smacked against her and Spike groaned internally as her eyes went wide again.  
  
“Nooohh. . . we are so not doing this in front of him.”  Her hips bucked involuntarily, arching into his hand.  
  
“Yeah, we are.”  Spike’s lips curled up in a leer and his tongue poked out between his lips.  “Oh yeah, sunshine, we are. . .”  
  
“No.”  She reached up, bracing her arms on his shoulders as if to push him away and Spike kicked off the blankets, forcing her legs wider.  “We are not.”  
  
Buffy knocked his arm out, pushing him to the side and rolling over on top of him, while he bucked up and rolled over again.  They thudded onto the floor and he twisted at the last second so that she landed on top of him and he grinned up at her.  “Outta view now, love.”  
  
She gaped at him for a moment, unable to think clearly, and he took advantage of her momentary lapse by flicking her nipple with his tongue.  He rolled over once more, tucking her beneath him.  “Gotcha now, sweetheart.”  
  
“Spike. . .” Her protest was cut off by his mouth, his hips wedging between hers.  His cock teased at her entrance and Buffy forgot all about why she’d been objecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Emily Bronte


	27. Planning lies with men.

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter 27.  Planning lies with men.  
  
  
Planning lies with men; success lies with Heaven.   
    Chinese proverb.  
  
Our planning may leave something to be desired,   
but our designs, thank God, have been flawless.   
    Noor, Queen of Jordan, on the birth of her fourth child in six years  
  
There will be no rescue, no intervention for us.   
We can only save ourselves.   
Many of you know influential people abroad, you must call these people.   
You must tell them what will happen to us... say goodbye.   
But when you say goodbye,   
say it as if you are reaching through the phone and holding their hand.   
Let them know that if they let go of that hand, you will die.   
We must shame them into sending help.  
        Hotel Ruwanda, 2004**_  
  
  
  
Wesley’s less than quiet movements in the kitchen gradually attracted the attention of his fellow Englishmen.  Rupert was first into the kitchen, wandering in bleary-eyed yet wide awake.  
  
“Tea’s done.”  Wesley indicated the teapot on the counter then placed another rasher of bacon on the stove.    
  
They made desultory conversation until Spike appeared a little while later, the baby tucked under his arm like a football.  Connor was gurgling happily and Spike searched around for his bouncy chair, grumbling about babies and their weird hours.  
  
His comments struck the other two as funny, and Giles was quick to point out, “Aren’t vampires supposed to sleep all day?”  
  
“Pppfffttt.  Older we get less sleep we need.”  Spike plopped the infant into the chair, then lifted the chair onto the counter and dropped a few rattles into the baby’s lap.    
  
“That explains _your_ eccentricity then.”  Wesley’s deadpan delivery had them all chuckling, though his next words sobered the mood completely.  “It’s been five days since I’ve heard from Cordelia.”  
  
Giles’ comment was drowned out by Spike’s question.  “How often was the cheerleader calling in?”  
  
Wesley stared down at the counter top while the other two exchanged glances.  “Every other day.”    
“You think Angel has her.”    
  
Giles voiced the fear Wesley had been loathe to mention.  “I believe it more than possible.  Angel was. . . showing signs of developing feelings for Cordelia, before and after our sojourn in Pylea.”  
  
The older man thought for a moment, his mind going over what he knew about Angel.  “If he does have her, it would fit his previous patterns.”  
  
“Would.  Think we need to do some daylight re-con.  Might wanna take the bot.”  Spike had a feeling in his gut that they had her.  “Might not be much worth savin’.”  
  
“Figures you would argue against saving something.”  Xander’s voice sounded from the hallway, anger evident in his tone.  
  
All three of the men in the kitchen turned to look in the doorway, and it was Spike’s comment that broke the uncomfortable silence that followed Xander’s pronouncement.  “What the bleedin’ hell are you doin’ in my house?”  
  
“ _Your_ house?  This isn’t _your_ house.  This is Buffy’s and Dawn’s house.  You have no rights here.”  Lines of fury were written all over the younger man’s features and his stance was belligerent enough that both Giles and Wesley moved between Spike and Xander.    
  
“Is mine.  Just as both those girls are mine.”  Folding his arms across his chest, Spike leaned a hip against the counter, his laser bright eyes boring into angry brown orbs. Not that he cared whether Harris knew the truth of things, however Spike figured that Buffy should be the one to spill the beans about all of it.  If Harris didn’t back down though, Spike would be more than happy to enlighten him.   “Question is why’re you wandering into my house without knocking.  You’ve no manners, whelp.  None ‘t’all.”  
  
“I came to see Buffy.  Why are you still here?”  Xander wasn’t going to back down, wasn’t going to show any fear or any softening of his attitude toward this particular male.  In Xander’s mind, the last person Buffy should show signs of wanting was Spike.  He’d tried to kill them, done more damage than anyone, even if it was in a round-about way.    
  
Spike sighed deeply.  “I live here.”  He turned away, showing his back to the boy and opened the refrigerator.  “Tell me again why you’re darkenin’ m’door.”  
  
He could hear Xander’s teeth grinding from his position all the way across the room.  “I came to see Buffy.”  
  
“She’s sleepin’, whelp.”  Spike leaned on the open refrigerator door, his eyes narrowing on Xander as the other started in again.    
  
Giles watched the interplay between the two, exasperation growing with each exchange.  “Xander, what is you want to see Buffy about?”  
  
“Just wanted to talk to her.  Nothing more than that.”  His tone softened a bit when he answered the older man, but just barely.  
  
“I said she’s sleepin’.  She’s exhausted, ‘m not waking her for nothin’.”  Spike punctuated his comment by nearly slamming the refrigerator door closed, then stalked closer to the younger man.  “Might do better next time to call.”  
  
“Right, so you can just hang up on me like you did last time?  I don’t think so, Spike.  I don’t trust you.  How do I know you haven’t drained her or tied her up or done something else to hurt her.”  The expression on Spike’s face darkened considerably and he took a menacing step closer to Xander, who, to his credit, didn’t back away from the enraged vampire.  
  
“Wouldn’t hurt her, you bastard, ‘m not like that.  She’s _mine_ , you git.  Mine to take care of an’ worry over, not yours, so worry ‘bout your own girl.”  Wesley stepped between the two, his eyes on the shorter man.    
  
“Spike.  Calm down.  This isn’t important.  We have other things to worry about besides . . . this.  Spike.”  Xander had moved forward, one fist raised as if to strike as his nasty words broke through Wesley’s and Spike leaned forward, silently daring Xander to take a shot at him.  
  
“Gentlemen.”  Giles pushed his way between the two, hands raised to calm them.  “Xander, is there a pressing need to see Buffy?”    
  
“No.  Just making sure she’s okay.” He shrugged, his look a cross between chagrin and worry.  “Haven’t seen her in a while, just wanted to, you know, see if she’s okay.”  
  
Spike snorted in disbelief, shaking his head and turning away from the boy, mumbling something under his breath.  He went back to the refrigerator, his hearing focused on the conversation behind him until Wesley leaned against the sink and whispered at him.  “I think you’re right.  We should get the bot out and have it re-con with us.  Do you think he’s holed up in the mansion again?”  
  
“Yeah.”  Pushing aside various leftovers and drinks, Spike located his blood on one of the shelves then straightened up to answer the other man.  “Would work.  ‘M not up for daytime work, but could head over through the sewers.    
  
Wesley addressed Spike’s last comment before Xander had interrupted them.  “Do you really think he might have turned her?”  
  
A shake of his head and Spike replied back, “Not his style.  Likes to play with his victims firs’, an’ then he turns ‘em.  Breaks ‘em, ya know?”  
  
“So you think she might still be alive?”  Wesley watched as Spike put the blood in the microwave, preparing to warm it up.    
  
“Might be.  Not sure how alive,” He paused, knowing this was the part none of them wanted to face.  “Could be he’s toying with her, makin’ her watch and witness all sorts of things, but ‘m not sure of that.  If he had feelin’s for her, he’d move right onto the hurt.”    
  
Nodding his acceptance of the possibilities, and what Spike didn’t say, Wesley stared off at a spot over Spike’s shoulder.  He couldn’t imagine anyone being able to withstand the kind of damage Spike was implying Angel could inflict.  Cordelia had hidden depths, strengths he hadn’t imagined she was capable of as a teenager; Wesley had seen the woman she’d grown into and she was formidable, though that didn’t necessarily ensure her survival.  They had to move fast in order to save her, regardless of whatever anyone else thought.  “I’m going to get the bot out of storage.”   
  
Ignoring the other two men who were still talking, Wesley moved toward the basement steps, intent on freeing the Buffybot from the confines of its storage box.  Giles had managed to calm down Xander, convincing him that when Buffy went to bed last night she was fine, just tired.  Spike drank his blood, watching Connor and half listening to the hushed tones of the Watcher.    
  
He heard a door creak open upstairs and Spike grimaced.  _Fuckin’ hell.  Wanted to let her sleep longer.  An’ now she’s awake.  Maybe I can convince her to go back to bed before she realizes what’s goin’ on._ Spike fixed his eyes on the door to the hallway, and he waited for her feet to pound down the stairs, but he didn’t hear them.  Without a word, he left the kitchen and made his way up the second floor, focusing on her presence.    
  
“Kitten?”  He knocked softly on the bathroom door, then slipped inside when she didn’t answer.  Buffy was on her knees in front of the toilet, vomiting.  Her face was flush, tears leaking slowly from her eyes and her breath hitched softly.  Spike wrinkled his nose at the smell, then opened the window before lifting her hair off her neck.  “You okay, sunshine?”  
  
A sullenly muttered “No” was his only answer.    
  
“All right, sweets, I’m right here.”  He was rubbing her back, his touch soothing her.  Buffy leaned back into him and she sighed against his shoulder.    
  
“I don’t feel good at all.”  She whined softly, wiping her mouth.  Spike leaned forward, grabbing the toothpaste off the sink and handing it to her.  “Just a little bit of that, don’t wanna get sick all over again.”  
  
Buffy curled into his arms, tears slowly dripping down her cheeks.  “I’m so tired.  All I wanna do is sleep.”  
  
Spike got to his feet, then leaned down to lift her up in his arms.  “So back to bed with you.“  Propping her up on the edge of the counter, he flushed the toilet, then directed her, “Spit that out, sweetheart.”  
  
Using her finger, Buffy took some toothpaste and swished it around her mouth then spit it out.  Spike looked up at her in time to see the adorable pout that drove him crazy.  “Hey, now, what’s wrong?”  
  
The sniffles and pout got worse.  “I don’t feel good.”  A hiccup broke through and Buffy grimaced at the sour taste.  Motioning to the toothpaste, she whined, “Can’t I please swallow some of that?“  
  
“That’ll jus’ make it worse.  Want me to see if we have somethin’ else?”  Spike wasn’t exactly sure what else would be good for her, but he’d be willing to try whatever she wanted to make her feel better.  
  
Her face lit up just a bit at that.  “Maybe some coke?  Or, oh. . . ginger ale.”  She thought for a minute, her eyes staring into his.  “I don’t think we have any, though.”  
  
“‘S all right, I’ll send one of the Watchers for it.”  That said, he lifted her back up, then headed into their bedroom.  “Back to bed, missy.”  
  
“Stay with me?”  She nuzzled into his neck, her breath hot against his skin.  “Please?”  
  
“Can’t love.  Oxford is worried ‘bout the cheerleader, an’ the whelp is down there too.”  He had no idea why he’d mentioned any of this, because he knew his girl, knew she would –  
  
“Let me down.”  Buffy pulled away from him, her fingers twisting into his shirt.  
  
“No.”    
  
“No?”  Inwardly, part of Buffy was cheering, because she really didn’t think her stomach could handle much of anything other than just curling up into bed, but another part of her, that stubborn generalissimo was yelling, _no, go downstairs and sacrifice yourself to make sure everyone else is fine._  
  
“Jus’ said that, didn’t I?”  Spike deposited her on the bed, lifting the blankets over her.  “Nothin’ that needs your immediate attention.  We don’t even know where the girl is, much less have a plan ‘bout anythin’ else.”  
  
Buffy slid out from beneath the blanket and Spike folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.  “You gonna be stubborn an’ bullheaded ‘bout this?”  She raised her eyes to look at him, and grinned at the fierce expression on his face.  
  
“Spike, it’s what I’m supposed to do.”  But he was shaking his head in refusal, and his hand pushed her back down.    
  
“No.  It’s not.  Don’t have to do it all by yourself anymore, remember?  ‘S what I’m supposed to do.  We can handle this without you.  You rest, an’ when you feel better, you get up.”  When she moved to do just that, he pushed her back down again.  “Kitten, how’s that belly?  Still writhin’ and rollin’?  Wanna puke on Angelus?  Maybe that’ll stop him.”  
  
Despite the way she currently felt, that image of puking all over Angel made her giggle.  “Spike.”  She whined, in a half-hearted attempt to see how far he would go to keep her in bed, but as soon as his name was out of her mouth, he dropped down beside her.    
  
“Heart’s beatin’ too fast, love, and you’ve gone cold again.”  Lifting the blankets once more, Spike dropped a kiss on her forehead, “Don’t push yourself.  We’ll check things out and won’t move until you feel better.   I promise.”    
  
Before she could protest some more, which they both knew was just an act, Spike was gone and she could hear his feet pounding down the stairs.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Xander had broken off his conversation when Spike left the kitchen, almost following him up the stairs.  His progress was only stopped when Wesley came back up the stairs with the Buffybot on his heels.  
  
“Hello, Xander!  Wesley let me out.  I don’t know him.”  The blinding smile of the bot made all three men snicker.  “Giles.  You’re my Watcher.  Are you going to polish your glasses and huff at me?”  
  
Giles felt his lips twitch and Wesley had to hide his laughter behind a kitchen towel.  Xander was shaking his head, almost afraid to say anything in case the bot would focus on him.  But the bot, in the way of all simple creatures, focused on the one being most likely to get annoyed by its attention, which in this case was Xander.  
  
“Does Anya still give you orgasms?”  
  
Completely missing Giles’ reaction, Wesley exploded with gales of laughter while Xander blushed furiously.  “Spike used me to get orgasms, but then the really real Buffy kissed him  after Glory gave him all those sexy wounds and he stopped.”  
    
“Really.  Must you?  Does this thing have an off switch?”  Giles was searching frantically under the bot’s hair, looking for some sort of switch, when Xander waved him off.  “Just tell it to be quiet and not mention sex.”  
  
“But that was my primary programming.”  The bot stared up at the two men, blinking curiously.  “Well, that and patrolling.  I kill vampires.”  
  
“Yes, you do.  And that’s what we need you for now.”  Giles was completely flustered.  Why on earth hadn’t they allowed Willow to finish the reprogramming?  The bot was ridiculous, was it really any wonder that Spike insisted they lock the damn thing in a box?  
  
The bot shrugged then chirped cheerfully, “Okay.  I’ll wait until you need me.”  
  
“Right.  You do that.”  Giles shook his head, effectively blocking any further thought of the bot from his mind.  Before he could ask Wesley why, Xander had pre-empted his question.  ‘So what’s the deal with bringing out the bot?”  
  
“Spike thought it would be a good idea since Buffy’s not feeling so well.”  Nodding his head in understanding, Giles remained silent, while Xander continued questioning Wesley.  “What’s the what?”  
  
“Cordelia hasn’t checked in with me in five days.”  Wesley looked pointedly at Xander.  “We think Angelus has her.  Spike believes he’s back at the mansion.”  
  
Without any hesitation at all, Xander said, “When do we go?”  
  
Spike’s feet sounded on the stairs and Giles said as he rounded the landing heading into the kitchen, “As soon as we decide who is going.”  
  
Surprising them all, Spike said, “Not goin’.  ‘M stayin’ put.  Buffy’s not feelin’ well.  Wants ginger ale.”  
  
Giles looked at Spike, a question in his eyes, but the younger man avoided his gaze, ducking his head.  He didn’t want to say anything about why Buffy wanted ginger ale, because he had no answers to the questions Giles might pose.  “Spike, do you remember the layout of the mansion?”  
  
He shook his head.  “Never went into parts of it – was in the chair.  Got the first floor, but he could have her anywhere.”  He paused a bit, dredging his memory for the layout of the mansion.  Grabbing a napkin, he looked around for something to write with; he ended up at the desk in the living room with paper and pencil.  Quickly he sketched out the first floor layout, while Rupert watched over his shoulder.  Pointing to one corner of the drawing, Giles said, “That’s the stairway to the second floor, but the first floor bedrooms are here, yes?”  
  
Spike was nodding his head.  “Yeah.  There’s the cellars also.  Rooms were here,” he marked that with an X, “An’ here might be where he’s got her.”    
  
Wesley stood leaning against the door looking down at the drawing while Xander listened from a few paces behind Rupert.  
  
“Where will they be holed up for the day?”  Wesley was concerned about disturbing any of the vampires in the mansion and possibly getting caught.  
  
“There was a master suite on the mid-level.  House really had a couple of floors.  Angelus left me on the first floor – while he and Dru slept on the next up.  Was jus’ a couple of steps.”  
  
Spike sketched that out.  “But m’recollection of that area isn’t clear.”  
  
Giles lifted the first paper, passing it to Wesley.  “We’ll leave now –"  
  
“I’m going.”  Xander’s voice broke in, interrupting the three Englishmen.  
  
“It’s not a rescue.  We’re just going to ascertain whether she’s there and where he’s keeping her.  Once we have that information we’re coming back here to decide what to do.  How best to get her out of there.”  Giles cautioned the younger man, looking at him over the tops of his glasses.  
  
Spike was concerned that the three of them would do something stupid and get themselves caught, and forcing himself and Buffy to rescue the rescuers.  “He’s likely to have alarms set up, he did last time.  Don’t take unnecessary chances.  No heroics, yeah?”  
  
“Right.”  Giles and Wesley nodded their agreement while Xander started to object, but at a look from the older man, he agreed.  
  
They were gone in minutes, leaving Spike with a sick Slayer and a gurgling infant.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The house was quiet, although he could hear the tympany of the various heartbeats echoing in the air around him.  Connor’s was thumping away fast and steady, a regular tripping rhythm that made him smile.  Counterpoint to the infant’s rapid beats were the two below him, Glinda’s fluttering, delicate and calming; Oz’ heavier, labored with pain and slowed by excessive medication; yet still strong for all that.  But the other, fainter beat of his mate, though muffled and almost far away, still, for all that, the one he knew best.  
  
Connor babbled baby nonsense behind him and Spike turned round to stare at the boy for a moment.  The changes his life had undergone, all the things he’d seen and done, and not one of the humans of his acquaintance thought it odd or worried about leaving him alone with a defenseless infant.  Never crossed their minds to worry about the boy.  Not that he would – there were some lines even he balked at crossing.  The child was family, much as he hated to admit it, the baby was Aurelius, despite having a beating heart.  And one did not . . . well _he_ didn’t –  some of the others might – and he could probably count on one finger who else wouldn’t harm the infant – but he wouldn’t.  
  
The boy was family.  
  
Just like Buffy.  Just like Dawn – his own daughter.  And _Glinda_.  She was family, too.  Those were the ones he’d chosen.  And _Rupert_.  And _Oxford_.  Spike sighed, wondering when in hell he’d traded his vampire clan for one of his own choosing; pretty much an all human one.  
  
He supposed, if he thought about it logically, the process had started that night when Angel had tried to suck the world into hell. When he’d sought Buffy out, theoretically to save Dru and his own ass from destruction.  At least that was how it started.  What ended up happening was so bloody bizarre.  
  
Would he have done it differently?  
  
Not sought out the girl, just gone along with the harebrained scheme of his grandsire and let the world get sucked into hell.  A snort escaped from his lips. _Not bloody likely, mate._  
  
Connor’s eyes watched him pacing back and forth drawn by the gesturing arms and the cadence of his voice, gurgling in counterpoint to the quiet raging of the vampire.  
  
Spike wouldn’t trade any moment of the last few years – if this was waiting for him.  He loved Buffy with everything he was – every part of him – and he believed she loved him just as much.  The claim had solidified their bond, forging it into something very real and tangible, and well, if that bond came with other bonds connecting him to yet more humans, so be it.   
  
He’d accept that.  
  
Hell.  Already did.  
  
A giggle burst from Connor’s mouth and Spike lifted the boy from his chair.  Holding him high on his chest, Spike said, “C’mon sprog, let’s go see what our Buffy is up too.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
After Spike left her, Buffy rolled over onto her side, curled around herself.  _Slayers aren’t supposed to get sick or be exhausted.  Super powers are supposed to let me skip all those icky things._   Except they didn’t.  Not really.  Her super powers just let her heal faster.  _So I should be fine in a couple of hours, just need a little more sleep, and some ginger ale and I’ll be good as new Buffy._ The only problem was, she couldn’t go back to sleep.  She could hear the noises from downstairs and if she concentrated, could hear the murmured voices of the men.  _I should go check on Oz.  See if he’s okay._  
  
Buffy started to get to her feet, when Spike’s feet pounded on the stairs.  
  
“Hey.  Thought I told you to stay put?”  He was inside their room, Connor in his arms, gurgling happily.  
  
“Was just gonna check on Oz.”  She settled back on the bed knowing he would just hack at her until she listened to him.  
  
“Jus’ did.  He’s sleeping.  Glinda’s got everythin’ under control.  So don’t bother gettin’ up.”  
  
He sat down on the bed, letting Connor wriggle out of his arms, his eyes on her face.  “Feelin’ any better?”  
  
Buffy sighed.  “A bit.  I’m just really tired.  Keeping up with you and this little guy is harder than I thought.”  Connor rolled over onto his back, feet kicking in the air.  At the sound of her voice, he angled himself toward her, moving his body closer to her.  
  
“Dunno what to do ‘bout that.”  He thought for a minute, “Maybe we need someone to get up with the sprog in the mornin’s.”  
  
“What?  You mean like a babysitter or a nanny?  We can’t afford that.”  She looked down at the gurgling baby.  
  
“Maybe we can’t, but I’d bet Peaches has a stash, hell, I know he does.”  Spike watched the boy wriggling around and then roll over.  “Is he supposed to do that?”  
  
“Not really.  I’m not sure.  Gimme the book.”  They’d taken to keeping copies of _What To Expect The First Year_ in various spots around the house in case they needed to consult with it.  Which for them, happened at least once a day.  Spike leaned over to snag the book from the dresser and Buffy said in a hushed voice, “Put him on the floor and then see what he does.”  
  
He looked at her kind of funny though did what she asked.  Connor was on the floor of their room before he could protest.  The baby started to whine and Spike leaned down to pick him up again but Buffy held out a hand, halting him.  They watched from the bed as Connor rolled over and got up on his knees.  “Get the book.”  
  
Spike handed it to her without a word.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
There was a grim silence in the car, none of its occupants willing to engage in idle chatter, and the bot, for once, picking up on the quiet didn’t fill the silence.  
  
By unstated agreement, Wesley had grabbed the keys for the Jeep, and he parked it half a block from the mansion.  Giles spoke, his voice very quiet.  “All we are doing now is reconnaissance – no heroics.  If you locate Cordelia, you cannot let her know we’re here.  Her survival just might depend on it.  If any of the vampires are awake, do not continue the search.  Just leave.”  
  
There were no arguments.  
  
They exited the Jeep, then the humans and the robot set off for the mansion.  
  
  
     



	28. Rescue me

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter 28.  Rescue me  
  
  
Sometimes that shark looks right at ya.   
Right into your eyes.   
And the thing about a shark is he's got lifeless eyes.   
Black eyes. Like a doll's eyes.   
When he comes at ya, he doesn't even seem to be livin'... 'til he bites ya,   
and those black eyes roll over white and then...   
ah then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'.   
The ocean turns red, and despite all your poundin' and your hollerin'   
those sharks come in and... they rip you to pieces.  
        Quint, Jaws (1975)  
  
My mommy always said there were no monsters   
\- no real ones - but there are, aren't there?  
        Newt, Aliens (1986)**_  
  
  
  
“He’s so not supposed to be doing that.”  Buffy was flipping through the pages of the book, her back resting against the headboard and her eyes half on the book and half on the almost crawling baby on the floor.  “Look.”  
  
Spike took the book from her, noting the progress the baby had made across the floor.  “Figure he’s gonna reach the bed?”  
  
“I dunno.  But this can’t be good, can it?”  She sat up, leaning on his arm.  Spike glanced down at the book, squinted then moved it further away so he could read the print.  That didn’t help, so he brought it closer to his face.  “Sprog’s not supposed to do this for ‘nother couple of months.”  
  
Connor wriggled forward again and Buffy looked between the two males.  “This is so not good.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Xander crept around the side of the mansion, heading toward the back, peeking into the small basement windows as the bot continuously checked for awake vampires.  So far, he’d seen nothing out of the ordinary, not even sleeping minions.  It was enough to convince him that this side of the mansion was deserted, until the bot tapped his shoulder.  “There’s something in that room.”  
  
He whirled around, following the bot’s pointed finger.  “It’s a vampire.  Can I stake it?”  
  
“No.  Just let me check it out, all right?”  He moved forward slowly in case the vampire was awake.  Xander leaned against the window, shading his eyes.  Some nameless vampire was asleep on a couch, angled away from the window.  He didn’t recognize it, rightly figuring it was a relative fledgling.  What did catch his attention was the door opposite the window.  The sleeping vamp’s posture sort of indicated, at least to him, that the vamp was guarding the door.  
  
“C’mon, let’s keep looking.”  Xander moved toward his right, toward the back of the house, the bot trailing him closely.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
It was funny how sleeping underground affected a person’s perceptions.  Tara had the vague idea that hours had passed since Giles and Wesley had left them alone, but she had no other way, other than her small clock, of verifying that.  Oz had barely moved in all that time, mostly shifting here and there to get more comfortable, though never truly waking up.    
  
Even when Spike had come down with the baby, the werewolf had barely stirred.  Part of her was beginning to worry, but, Dr. Thomas had said that the best thing for him would be sleep.  While not blessed with Slayer or vampire healing, werewolves did have something akin to it.  
  
Within a week, the doctor had assured her, Oz would be up and around, maybe not fighting vampires again, but he’d be well on the way to completely recovered.  Tara wasn’t so sure she was thrilled with this news.  Too many of them had been getting hurt.  She was just afraid that the next time, whoever it was wouldn’t recover so quickly.  Perhaps she and the watchers could research protection spells for everyone.    
  
Oz growled in pain and she sat up, her hands running lightly over his injuries, checking for any changes.  For now she had to worry about him, the rest could wait until he was out of the woods.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Crouched down a bit, Wesley craned his neck to see into another window on the opposite side of the house.  Rupert was further toward the back of the house, where they had agreed to all meet.  From Wesley’s current position, he could see Giles and as he looked down into the window, he could barely make out two pair of feet and the corner of a bed.  There was movement in a corner of the room and simultaneously both Englishmen hissed for attention.  
  
Rupert’s voice was a bare whisper.  “What have you got?”  
  
“Possibly Angel and Drusilla.  All I can see is feet.  It appears there’s a girl chained up at the foot of the bed.”  He turned to face the older man and his expression told Wesley all he needed to know.  “How is she?”  
  
Giles didn’t say anything, remaining silent until he joined Wesley.  “Not good.”  
  
Without sparing a second glance behind him, Rupert headed for the back of the house and the other two.  Wesley hesitated a moment, moved toward the window, then changing his mind, backed away.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
 _Gotta be something here I can use. . . **something**._   Frustration was getting the better of her temper and Willow was vaguely aware she was sort of unraveling but the information was important.  _There has to be some way I can fix this mess. . . make all this badness go away.  Make everything the way it should be.  Why can’t I find it?  
_  
This wasn’t like the resurrection spell.  Willow realized that – this was more along the lines of using the Lethe’s Bramble to make them forget – but that wasn’t really what she wanted.  _Don’t want anyone to forget, just want them to be the way they should be.  Make everything right._  
  
It hardly mattered that what she thought was right might not actually be the way things were supposed to be, because Willow didn’t much care anymore.  She just wanted her rightful place back.  Buffy’s best friend.  Xander’s best friend.  And Tara’s girlfriend.  _That’s the way things are supposed to be.  I’m supposed to be on the inside one of the Scoobies – not Spike.  He’s a vampire, one of the bad guys._  
  
Willow pursed her lips into a look Xander was well acquainted with and if he were there to witness it, he’d be very concerned about Willow’s intentions.  _It has to be here. . . whatever **it** is. _ Turning the page of the old grimoire on her lap, Willow focused on the words of the spell in front of her.  _Hhhhhmmmm.  Maybe I can tweak this a bit.  
_  
Determination renewed, Willow set about finding a way to fix the world to her liking.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Cheerfully sending another satisfied customer on their way, Anya idly noted the time on the clock. Quarter past four and she could lock up in another fifteen minutes, then head home.  
  
 _Home_.  Where Xander should be.  Anya wasn’t so sure she wanted to go there.  All they’d been doing lately was fighting.  Fighting about announcing their wedding, fighting about Willow’s strange behavior; fighting about Buffy and Spike; fighting about everything.  About the only time they weren’t fighting was while they had sex but lately they’d been fighting about that too.  
  
Whenever Xander wasn’t happy with anything, he’d spend time complaining about it.  Complaining endlessly.  Xander bitched about everything.  _Every.  Thing._  
  
Anya thought that this was normal, until her brief conversation with Giles a couple of weeks ago.  Something he’d said had started her thinking and now her head hurt constantly because of all the thinking she’d been doing.  And not only her head hurt.  
  
Her heart did too.  She wasn’t blind – just outspoken, and yes, she admitted it; sometimes rather self-absorbed.  But she’d seen things – lots of things.  After all, she’d lived longer than any of them, hell, all of them combined, and she’d seen life along the way.  Okay, so vengeance demons don’t always see people at their happiest or their best, but still, she’d seen.  She wasn’t blind.  
  
It had come as a little surprise when she realized that a vampire was more capable of love than she’d ever expected.  She was so totally jealous of Buffy; not because she wanted orgasms from Spike and she wouldn’t turn him down if he offered, _but really, Anya, off topic,_ she was jealous of the way Spike treated Buffy.  
  
It was quite clear to anyone who cared to spend more than five minutes watching them that Buffy was the center of Spike’s world; the sun around which his universe revolved.  And that was what Anya was jealous about, because it was also quite clear she didn’t fulfill that same role for Xander.  Which made her head and her heart hurt.  
  
 _Maybe Giles is right.  Maybe it’s not how, maybe it’s the who that’s all wrong._ Anya moved about the shop, needlessly cleaning an already spotless display case when her attention was diverted by the bell over the door pealing in the quiet shop.  
  
Switching on the blinding smile and super-salesgirl persona, Anya greeted her next sale.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Do you think he’s gonna walk early too?”  Buffy was curled on her side at the edge of the bed watching Connor scoot from one side of the floor to the other.  
  
Spike looked up at her from his prone position on the floor blocking the doorway.  He’d been coaxing the baby forward for almost an hour now, and all that practice had apparently paid off.  As incredible as it appeared, Connor was, at just over two months old, pretty much crawling from one location to another.  “‘Spect so.  Sprog’s strong for his age, an’ look at ‘im go.”  
  
Connor had reached Spike and was trying to pull himself up using the vampire as a prop, butting against his chest.  Spike rolled onto his back and lifted the infant in the air, making zooming noises as he did.  Buffy watched the both of them, thinking about how cute they both were.  “We can’t. . . how the heck are we supposed to do this?  I don’t know anything about babies.  And you’re not exactly father of the year material.”  
  
He turned an affronted face to her.  “Least I’m here, tryin’ to do m’best.”  
  
She knew she’d hurt him by the expression in his eyes.  _Damn Buffy, when are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut? Coz he’s right, he’s here doing the daddy bit and where’s the baby’s real father?  Oh.  Right.  Off terrorizing people.  Better say something._   “Sorry.  You’re right.  We’ll just have to do our best and figure it all out as we go.”  
  
“Jus’ like everyone else, sunshine.  ‘Snot like sprogs come equipped with how-tos.  ‘Sides, we don’t know what spawn here is capable of jus’ yet.”  
  
“True.”  She watched them both a little longer, her eyes drinking in the sight of her mate playing with a baby.  A yawn stretched Connor’s face and Buffy said, “Looks like all that practice tired out our boy.”  
  
Spike cradled the boy to his chest, getting gracefully to his feet in the next moment.  “Yeah.  Take him.  Watchers should be in soon.  Gonna call Niblet, tell her to head home.  You rest with him.”  
  
Dropping Connor on the bed behind her, Spike waited until she rolled over to tuck him in her arms, then kissed her forehead.  “Get some kip, sunshine, I’ll be back.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Aside from confirming to the others that Cordelia was in fact in the mansion, Giles hadn’t said anything as they made their way back to the house on Revello Drive.  None of them had much of anything to say.  Before their mission, only the possibility of Cordelia’s captivity existed; unfortunately, now it had moved from the realm of possibility into very harsh reality.  
  
Reality they’d all hoped wouldn’t actually be true.  
  
Hoping to spare the others what he’d witnessed, Giles had rushed them away from the mansion – partially also to distance himself a bit.  
  
There wasn’t enough time and space to truly distance himself from _that_.  Cordelia was. . . his mind shied away from the visions, from the sight of her.  He couldn’t . . . Rupert closed his eyes against the daylight.  He. . . _oh god.  Poor girl._   He’d known firsthand the kind of damage Angel could inflict given the time.  Without knowing how long he’d had Cordelia, Rupert had fooled himself about what had been done.  
  
He was struck with the sudden realization that he quite possibly owed his life to Spike.  However, instead of calming him, Ruper also realized that no one had come to Cordelia’s rescue – she’d been in the clutches of a monster for days, without any protection at all – which increased his agitation.  
  
So lost in his thoughts, Rupert had no idea they’d gotten back to the house until Wesley nudged him, after calling him more than once.  Giles looked over at the younger man, a very distracted air about him and slowly reacted. “Right.”  
  
Almost blindly, Giles walked in the front door, and the contrast between what was struck him hard.  Tears formed in his eyes and Rupert excused himself, leaving the others to wonder at his behavior.  
  
Walking up the steps in a daze, Rupert Giles came to a decision, one that he should have made years before, but hadn’t for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom at this moment.  This time, he was going to argue against re-souling Angel, and rather, he was going to advocate dusting him.  
  
Spike was just closing the bedroom door when he reached the second floor hallway.  At the stricken look on the older man’s features, Spike sighed.  “He’s got her then.”  
  
“Yes.”  It was all he needed to hear.  
  
Opening the door again, Spike held up a hand as Rupert started to speak.  “Get dressed, kitten.  They’re back.”  
  
With that he moved to close the door, but Giles’ hand on his arm stopped him.  “Wait, Spike, I . . . need to say, that is. . . I – thank you.  For what you did all those years ago.  Diverting Angel’s attention like you did.”  
  
Staring at him in slight shock, Spike shook his head.  “Wasn’t doing it for you, mate.”  
  
Giles too was shaking his head.  “Doesn’t matter.  The fact remains . . . regardless of why.  You saved my life.”  
  
Buffy came to the door, sharing a long look with her mate.  “Giles?  What happened?”  
  
“Angelus has the cheerleader, love.”  Her eyes left Spike’s face to glance up at Giles.  His features were without emotion, but Buffy knew Giles was deeply affected; nothing else would have prompted his prior words.  
  
“Oh god.  I’ll be down in a minute.  Get everyone together.”  Buffy closed the door and both men headed back downstairs.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Wesley was pacing the dining room and Xander was sitting at the table, waiting for Giles to come back down so they could discuss what to do and how to rescue Cordelia.  The opening and closing of doors upstairs drifted down, and the soft murmur of voices could barely be heard.  The bot was bustling about doing something in the kitchen, by the sounds of it, washing dishes and generally cleaning.  Neither of the two younger men spoke, the silence between them complete.    
  
The sound of footsteps on the stairs was deafening, and both of them looked toward the staircase.  Spike stepped down heavily, Giles a mere step behind him.  Looking at the grim faces, the vampire said, “Buffy’ll be down in a tick.”    
  
He headed for the phone and motioning toward the others to sit and wait for Buffy; Spike waited until Dawn picked up then told her to get home and bring ginger ale.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Her belly was not cooperating.  The rolling nausea that accompanied her every move was threatening to overspill and wreak havoc with her equilibrium.  Buffy sat down on the bed, breathing heavily through her nose, trying to control the tempest.  _Okay, this is not good.  Gotta stop this._   Slipping into her sweats and one of Spike’s tee shirts, Buffy lifted a sleeping Connor and put him into his crib, then ran a quick hand through her hair.  _All right, let’s do this.  
_  
Inhaling deeply, Buffy slowly made her way downstairs.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
All four of them were ranged around the dining room, Xander and Giles sitting in two of the chairs, while Wesley leaned against the wall, his arms crossed.  Spike was pacing, well not really pacing so much as not staying in one place, his attention focused inward.  His head perked up as he heard her footsteps on the stairs, worry written on lines bracketed around his mouth.  
  
She smiled at him wanly, knowing that putting a chipper grin on her face was not going to fool him, and kind of inappropriate, given Giles’ revelation about Cordelia.  “Hey, guys.”  
  
“Hey, Buff.”  Xander had picked up his head at her entrance, his eyes doing a quick scan over her slight form.  He grimaced, but held his tongue, at her choice of attire.    
  
Buffy stopped short, swallowing the bile in her throat.  “Xand.”  She leaned heavily on the table, her eyes darting between all of the males.  It was strange to see so many men at a makeshift Scoobie meeting, usually they were overwhelmed by the girl-power.  Sharing a smile with Spike, Buffy stood up and said, “What’s the sitch, guys?”  
  
By default, it was Giles that spoke, since none of the others had seen where or how Cordelia was being restrained.  “She’s in the mansion, on the mid-level floor, on the south side of the building.  I’m not certain how many vampires are in the house.  Angelus and Drusilla appear to be in the room adjacent to where Cordelia is.”  
  
“She is . . . secured to a bed.”  His voice faltered a little, as he paused to draw a breath, but he gathered himself after a moment and he continued, “I couldn’t ascertain the extent of her injuries, though they appear to be extensive.  She’s going to need immediate transport to hospital.”  
  
Nothing but silence greeted his words and they all processed the information he’d just imparted.    
  
“We can’t protect her in hospital.”  Wesley’s voice was grim.    
  
Giles glanced up at him, anger and frustration evident on his normally placid features.  “No, but we cannot keep her here.  She needs medical attention of the kind we cannot provide and magic won’t be enough.”  
  
“Can we risk getting her out of town?  Or is there some way we can put a protective field around her at one of the hospitals here?”  Buffy’s gaze flickered between Giles and Wesley, wondering if either one of them knew something they might be able to use to protect Cordelia once they had her safe.  
  
“I’m not sure.  Most public places can’t be barred.”  Wesley thought for a few moments, then fixed his eyes on the older man.  “How dire are her injuries?  If she’s as badly injured as you are implying, she would be housed in ICU, correct?”  
  
“It’s more than likely.”  Lifting his eyes to Wesley’s face, Giles asked, “What are you thinking?”  
  
“Since she’ll be in isolation, it might be possible to perform a disinvite.”    
  
Spike considered this, his expression thoughtful.  “Might work.  She’d be livin’ there.”    
  
Buffy’s expression mirrored Spike’s.  “Okay, so we can work on that once we get her out of there.  First we have to get her.  Any ideas?”  
  
“Our best and probably only chance is going to be a diversion.”  Giles took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes to hide the emotions overwhelming him.  “We somehow need to draw both Angel and Drusilla away from the mansion.”  
  
“Yeah and how are we gonna manage that and who’s gonna be stupid enough to be the bait?”  Xander’s first contribution to the planning session was typically him.  
  
Wesley ignored his tones, focusing instead on the words.  “Exactly. What’s the best way to draw both of them?”  
  
Buffy and Spike spoke simultaneously.  “Me.”  
  
They shared a look wrought with tension.  
  
“Are you kidding?”  Xander exploded into the quiet room.  “If you both act as bait, how the hell are the rest of us supposed to rescue Cordy – you two are the strongest.  And I really hate admitting that.”  
  
Without taking his eyes from Buffy, Spike said softly, “I’ll go alone.”  
  
Buffy was shaking her head no, while Giles and Wesley were both spluttering their own negatives.  She couldn’t speak for the emotion suddenly clogging her throat and her heart was in her eyes as she looked at him.  
  
“We can’t. . .”  Wesley was trying to come up with a reason to deny Spike, but the vampire held up his hand.  
  
“Listen.  I’ll take the bot – get into something so that Angelus and Dru hear of it – all public like.”  He paused, watching Buffy’s reaction to his words.  “You lot get to be the heroes an’ rescue the girl.”  
  
He knew what she was feeling, could sense it through the bond, though he also knew this was pretty much their best plan.  Right now it was their only plan.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She could hear the noises from the other rooms, the sounds of people stirring and moving about.  In a Pavlovian response, her body tensed, muscles clenching, tears immediately seeping from her closed eyes.  There were no prayers left in her, nothing beyond _please let me die_ echoing inside her head.  Everything else was numb.  Pain had leached away every other thought, every emotion stripped away in the light of what she’d endured.   
  
 Blood was sticking to her, making everything crinkle and crack every time she moved.  Whimpers sounded in the still air of the room and it took her long minutes to realize it was her own voice making them.  The outside noises came closer and the desperation filled her.  _Please. . . no more. . . please. . . mommy. . . daddy. . . please. . . no. . .  
_  
There was no release, the chains still bound her, the leather cutting into her skin, slicing deep into already abused flesh, bruising muscles and creating a fresh flow of blood around her wrists and ankles.  The door to her prison creaked open and the dark looming shape of her captor stepped over the threshold.   
  
Cordelia whimpered, high-pitched and desperate, fear ripping through her.  She couldn’t think of him as what he once was, who he once was. . . he wasn’t that person. . .   He might wear the same face, inhabit the same body, but whoever lived behind his eyes was not the person she . . .    
  
“Good evening, Cordy.  How are you tonight?  Did you miss me?  Hhhmmm?”  He grinned ferally as he came closer to the bed, entering her line of sight.  “You know, I’m really thinking that I like you all quiet and obedient.  But hey, kind of missing the visions.  Seen anything good lately?”    
  
Angel ran a deceptively gentle hand over her face, which he hadn’t yet damaged.  “You are a beauty.”  She tried shying away from his fingers, but Angel gripped her chin in one hand, leaning close, so that their faces were bare inches apart.  “Shouldn’t do that, Cordy.  Really.”  
  
Tracing a hand down along her neck, Angel leaned down, squeezing and flexing his fingers around, tightening and cutting off her air.  Fresh tears slid down her cheeks and she gasped desperately for air.  Her lungs constricted, her body bucking and writhing in an attempt to get the oxygen she needed to survive.  His face came closer, his lips nearly brushing her ear and he whispered softly, gently, “Don’t fight so much.  You get used to not needing to breathe after a while.  Kind of like getting used to not having a heartbeat.”  
  
Choking noises filled the room, and he abruptly let her go, watching with a wide grin as she coughed and wheezed.  Purple marks bloomed freshly over yellowed bruises and Cordy refused to look at him as he moved a single finger from her throat down toward her slashed breasts.  Pressing hard against barely healed cuts, Angel broke open the scabs, letting fresh blood ooze from the abused globes.    
  
Musing almost distractedly, Angel spoke aloud, his words barely registering in her mind.  “So much to play with, so nice and full and delicious.  You know, you taste like catnip.  Maybe I’ll let my kitty-cat girl play for a little while.”  
  
Angel watched while tiny streams of blood flowed from tiny pooling red lakes, down the sides of Cordelia’s once lovely breasts.  He drew shimmering Celtic designs in blood on her torso, patterns swirling on and over her breasts and down her flanks, dipping closer to her torn and battered sex.  More to himself than her, he continued speaking, “Maybe I’ll have this branded into you, before I bring you over.  Prove to you forever who you belong to.  That you are mine. . . to keep . . . or not.”  
  
He shoved his thumb inside her, pumping once, then reached for the police baton he’d taken from his latest minion.  Grinning, he played with it, making sure Cordelia saw what he was doing.  There was a soft noise behind him, and without moving or turning away from his victim, Angel said, “Not now, Dru.  I’m playing.”  
  
A soft laugh accompanied his dismissal.  “Really, Daddy, might I play with you?  I’ve been ever so good and Miss Edith says the little seer will be seeing things tonight.  Such nice little visions.”  
  
With her words, Angel did finally turn around to look at Dru.  His leer upon seeing her was wide and hungry.  She lounged in the doorway, covered in nothing but a virginal lace veil stolen from the bridal shop, her skin as pearly white as the material, save for the darkness of her long hair and the shadow at the junction of her thighs.  “A vision?   Miss Edith says our guest is going to have a vision?”  
  
“And the pixies too.  Daddy, might your little girl come in and play?  Please. . . pretty please?”  A coquette’s grin and wide guileless eyes graced Drusilla’s face and as always, Angel couldn’t resist her.  Holding out a hand to his precious childe, Angel motioned her forward.  A happy giggle sounded in the air and she bounced forward eagerly.  “Oooohhh, Daddy, I promise I’ll be good . . . can I play?”  
  
Gathering the swirling lace in his big hand, Angel dragged Drusilla forward, until she hovered over Cordelia’s trussed body.  The white lace dragged through the congealed blood, abrading the sensitive skin on Cordelia’s naked flesh.  “So Dru, where does Daddy’s little girl want to play first?”  
  
Drusilla was nearly salivating and bouncing with unrepressed glee.   “Can I lick her up, can I?  Pretty please . . . please, Daddy?”  
  
Angel appeared to contemplate the idea for long minutes, looking between the two brunettes.  The mental image had Cordelia being a willing participant, but that would come in time . . .   
  
“Sure, baby.  Lick her all over.”  
  
Drusilla’s mouth descended slowly toward Cordelia’s cracked and bleeding nipple, her tongue poking out from between deadly lips, but Cordelia didn’t care, her mind was blank, lost in the fog of pain and despair, all hope of rescue long gone.  
  
   
      
  
            


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from the Alarm (again) from the song of the same name


	29. Relying on hope

_**Book Two.  
  
Chapter 29.  Relying on hope  
  
  
To the last moment of his breath,  
On hope the wretch relies;  
And even the pang preceding death  
Bids expectation rise.  
    Oliver Goldsmith, The Captivity. Act ii.  
  
For the wretched   
one night is like a thousand;   
for someone faring well   
death is just one more night.    
    Sophocles, Fragments, l. 377   
  
Destroy yourselves,   
you who are desperate,   
and you who are tortured in body and soul,   
abandon all hope.   
There is no more solace for you in this world.   
The world lives off your rotting flesh.   
    Antonin Artaud, General Security: The Liquidation of Opium, (1925)**_  
  
  
  
  
Just minutes after Spike’s pronouncement, Giles had excused himself in an effort to escape from the wrangling over the finer points of the plan.  Buffy had watched him, her eyes meeting Wesley’s for a brief moment then her attention was drawn once more to their plan.  
  
Before they had a chance to come up with something solid, Dawn, with Casey just steps behind her, traipsed in the doorway, toting the requested ginger ale.  Dawn made her way into the kitchen, stopping short at the sight of the bot.  “Spike?”  
  
Her voice was strained with mirth and he couldn’t figure out why, until he remembered they had forgotten to put the bot away.  Luckily, Casey had stopped to talk to Buffy about something so Spike hustled into the kitchen and hastily put the bot back in storage.  
  
Buffy took the brief lull Casey’s appearance allowed for and sought out Giles, who was sitting quietly in the living room.  
  
“Hey.”  He opened his eyes at her greeting, angling his head in her direction.  
  
“Buffy.”  Actually taking the opportunity to look at her, he was shocked at the fatigue in her eyes and drawn look to her features.  Her normally golden color was a bit off and he could now clearly see how much she hid from the others.  “Are you all right?”  
  
“I’m pooped.  Staying up most nights with Spike and pretending to be Connor’s mommy very early in the morning make a totally tired Buffy.”  She shrugged.  “I’ll be fine.”  
  
“Perhaps you should consider not going?”  Buffy eyed him strangely, noting his own strained and tired look.  
  
“Nope.  Not unless you consider it.”  She sat down on the couch facing him.  “I’m fine, just tired.”  She paused again, looking down at her hands.  “How bad is she?”  
  
“What?  What makes you think this is in response . . ?”  His voice trailed off when Buffy raised her eyebrow and just stared him down.  
  
“Giles?  I’m tired.  Not blind or dumb.”  
                              
He grimaced, realizing he was going to have to tell someone.  “Not good.  By the amount of blood. . . I thought she was on red sheets until. . .”  He shook his head, unwilling to continue.  “She’s tied to the bed, I couldn’t see how, though it probably involves chains.”  
  
“Only if he thinks there’s a reason.  Prob’ly tied her there with somethin’ else.  Somethin’ designed to cause pain.”  Spike’s voice sounded quietly from the kitchen doorway.  He handed Buffy a glass of ginger ale, then folded his arms over his chest.  “He’s goin’ for the hurt.  Oxford said he was gettin’ the warm fuzzies for the girl.  He’s tryin’ to break her.”  
  
Buffy sipped the ginger ale, a slight grimace of distaste on her face.  “You think he’s going to turn her.”  
  
It wasn’t a question.  
  
“Yeah.”  Spike’s one word answer was enough for Buffy.    
  
“We’re going in tonight.”  Spike wasn’t the only one with a game face.  The Slayer was suddenly sitting next to Giles, tired and under-the-weather Buffy long gone.  
  
“Tonight?  Are you certain?”  Giles’ eyes were on his Slayer.  
  
“Yup.”  She was nodding her head.  
  
“Best we wait ‘til after midnight – this way if we get stuck, it’ll be close to daybreak an’ they can’t follow you when you get her out.”  Spike laid a hand on her shoulder, absently running his thumb back and forth.  
  
“So we gear up around midnight?”  Xander’s voice preceded him into the living room.  
  
“Looks like it.”  Buffy was shaking her head.   “We have one shot at this so it has to work.”  
  
Wesley, who had followed Spike in from the kitchen, glanced down at his watch.  “That gives us roughly seven hours.”  At everyone’s nodded agreement, he continued, “Then I suggest we get some sleep.”  
  
Only Spike disagreed, though everyone expected that.  “Don’t need it, but you, sunshine, should go.”  
  
Turning watery eyes on him, Buffy asked, “Come with?”  
  
“Right then, see you lads later.”  Spike’s dismissal was quick as he pulled Buffy to her feet.  They disappeared up the stairs as the three men departed out the front door.  
  
      
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She knew something was up when Spike called her, telling her to come home, though Dawn wasn’t sure how serious it was until she’d come in the door.  
  
For one thing, Wesley was still wearing the same clothes as last night.  For another, Xander was in the dining room and he and Spike weren’t fighting.  So whatever was going on had to be serious.  
  
Dawn knew it was really bad when the bot was out of storage.  And she was beginning to worry.  She couldn’t ask point blank because Casey didn’t really know about the weirdness that was her life and it would take far too long to explain it to him.  _Not to mention so not wanting to go there at all._  
  
Hearing them all leave like that clued her in a little more, but she also knew she couldn’t ask what was really going on while Casey was still around.  
  
On the pretext of finding out if she could order a pizza for them, Dawn left Casey in front of the television and headed up the stairs.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
They had climbed the stairs in silence, neither one of them inclined to talk.  Buffy was feeling better, despite all the moving around, though she still wasn’t up for the possible fight with Spike over the plan for the night.  
  
Not that anyone else had been able to come up with something better.  She didn’t like it, and some niggling sense kept her on edge about it.  She didn’t like being split up from him while they were doing the rescuing bit.  Didn’t even like patrolling without him – at least lately.  While partially the claim, a just as real part of it was being skittish about certain things, not that fighting vampires was all that scary, it was the other stuff.  
  
Knowing about Dawn had changed something fundamental for her.  And that was _before_ she knew the full truth.  
  
Jumping to save Dawn had been the most right thing she’d ever done; it had also been the easiest.  And now?  Knowing the real truth – that Dawn was her daughter – Buffy would have only done one or two things differently.  Now, with everything to live for, Buffy wasn’t inclined to take too many risks – and she was really afraid that something would go wrong and everything would fall apart, leaving her alone and without her mate.  She didn’t think she could survive that.  
  
Once inside their bedroom, Buffy turned to face Spike.  The look on her features must have spoken volumes, because he opened his arms to enfold her and clasp her against his chest.  
  
“I love you, you know, right?”  A smile played across his face in answer, but he remained silent, waiting for her to continue.  “Promise me you’ll be careful.”  
  
“Always.  You too, kitten.”  His arms tightened around her as he walked her backwards to the bed.  Gently he pushed her onto the mattress, his touch firm.  “Back to bed with you, missy.”  
  
“I’m fine.”  He just snorted loudly, raising an eyebrow at her less than enthusiastic assertion.  “Really, I am.”  
  
“Sure thing, Slayer.  How’s tha’ belly?”  Two arms on either side of her hips, Spike leaned over her.  “Hhmmm?  Feelin’ a bit topsy turvy yet?”  
  
“Bleah.  Meanie.”  She stuck her tongue out at him, pouting when he pushed her down onto the pillows.  
  
“Right.  ‘M mean coz ‘m makin’ you nap.”  He was smirking at her, his eyes laughing.  
  
“No.  You’re a meanie because you’re gonna leave me alone the minute I fall asleep.”  Her lower lip pouted and Spike growled.  “And you’re making with the rumblies now too.”  
  
His bark of laughter caused an answering smile in her.  “If you wanted to snuggle, all you had to do was ask, love.”  He pushed her further onto the bed, “Shove over, then.”  
  
Once he was next to her, Buffy rolled into his waiting arms basking in his attention.  He murmured into her hair as her eyes drifted closed.  “Only have to ask, kitten.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Her eyes had just closed when Dawn snuck in the door after knocking.  Finding the two of them on the bed, Buffy’s eyes already closed, Dawn knew something very serious was up – and not just the slayer stuff.  
  
“What’s up?”  Dawn walked toward the bed, trying not to disturb Buffy too much.  Spike shifted a bit, eyeing her over his shoulder.    
  
“Buffy’s feelin’ poorly an’ she’s gettin’ some kip before we go out tonight.”  
  
“Yeah, about that. . . what’s going on?”  Dawn folded her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
She looked so much like Buffy that he had to laugh.  Buffy opened her eyes and asked, “What’s so funny?”  
  
Spike nudged her, saying, “That look’s pure Slayer, love, nothin’ of me in there ‘tall.”  
  
“Ah huh.”  Buffy rolled her eyes, focusing on Dawn again.  “Angel has Cordelia and we’re gonna rescue her tonight.”  
  
Dawn’s expression faltered, knowing what that could mean.  “Do you think she’s okay?”  
  
“No.  Giles caught a glimpse of her and she’s gotta go right to the hospital.”  Buffy brushed her hair away from her face and laid her head down on Spike’s chest.  “We’re gonna need you to take care of Connor tonight, while the rest of us sleep.”  
  
Glancing over at the crib, Dawn made a face then gave in.  “Sure.  I’ll get him when he wakes up.”  She started to leave, then remembered her original purpose.  “Is it okay if I order a couple of pizzas?”  
  
“Get some wings too, ” was Spike’s only comment as she headed for the door.  
  
“All right.  I’ll see you later.”  
  
Buffy snuggled closer into Spike’s arms and closed her eyes again without another word.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
It was half eleven when the Watchers arrived and five minutes later when Xander and Anya walked in the door.  Spike had been up for hours polishing weapons and Buffy had gotten up just after ten and showered.  She’d tried once to talk him out of going with the bot, but he had retorted with, “Only if you stay home” which effectively ended that discussion.  
  
Tara had ventured upstairs while Casey was still around and therefore had gotten a bare account of what was going on, though it was enough to alert her to the situation.  
  
The bot was brought out of storage and given instructions which consisted of nothing more than do exactly what Spike says and ask no questions.  Spike still had no idea what he was going to do, his only thought at the moment was to somehow draw the two master vampires away from the mansion.  It was the how that was currently escaping him.  
  
Looking around at everyone ranged about the dining room, Spike idly noted that the rest had done them all some good.  Even Buffy was feeling better, that nausea dissipating after the enforced sleep.  Her hazel green eyes sparked with life again and while her mood wasn’t exactly cheerful, she was back to herself.  
  
She caught him looking at her and she tried forming a question in her head and was rewarded half a second later when his answer came through loud and clear.  She didn’t have time to answer him, though, because Giles was talking and then it was time for him to go.  
  
The plan, such as it was, hinged on Spike’s ability to lure the others away from the mansion, and, when he had their full attention, somehow telepathically let Buffy know it was time.  The rescue group would be watching the mansion anyway, and they would move on Buffy’s signal.  Once Cordelia was free, Wesley and Giles were going to take her to the hospital and Buffy was going to join Spike and the bot, hopefully confusing the hell out of the two vampires.  
  
It wasn’t a great plan.  It wasn’t even a good one.  It was so lame that none of them thought it would work.  However, they didn’t have any more time to come up with anything better, much less something that was guaranteed to work.  
  
Spike was gone with the bot beside him, and the others were going to wait a half hour to forty-five minutes, then head over to the mansion.  
  
He’d started out toward Restfield, intending to just cause a huge ruckus, hoping that the other two would hear of it and head out, when he stopped in his tracks, a thought swirling around in his head.  Changing his mind abruptly, Spike headed straight for the mansion.  If he was going to draw them out, he might as well ensure that they were out – and if he took out a few of the minions along the way, so much the better.  
 _  
Change of plans, kitten, be ready to roll when I give a shout_ , was his last thought to Buffy before he shut down and focused on the new plan.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Cordelia hadn’t been so far gone when Drusilla interrupted Angel earlier that she missed what the insane vampire had said.  So when the first vision had started, instead of reacting, Cordelia let it come.  The pain that usually accompanied the visions was gone – overwhelmed by the pain her entire body was in.  A little blinding headache wasn’t going to matter one way or another.    
  
So she kept her silence, while Angelus and Drusilla tortured her body and watched as the disjointed visions showed herself, Wesley, Buffy and Spike fighting Drusilla, Angel grabbing Buffy by the throat – and then they ceased.  
  
To afraid to guess at a meaning, Cordelia shut down again, forcing her mind away, detaching – until another vision assailed her battered psyche.  This one, as earlier, was filled with images of Spike and Buffy and Xander . . . and Giles.  Shuddering under the strain of keeping silent, Cordelia finally succumbed to the pain her body was in and surrendered consciousness.  
  
And so she missed it completely when the first wave of the cavalry strode, black leather swirling, into the mansion, fists, fangs, and swinging weapons, killing more than a few of Angel’s newest minions.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Without coming up with a better plan on the short walk to the mansion, Spike sent another thought to his mate, then closed off his emotions.  He didn’t relish the idea of going against his sire or Angelus - the call of family bonds was still strong – yet his bond with Buffy carried more weight.  She had asked, he would do.  For no other reason.  He didn’t fool himself that he felt compassion for Cordelia – nor that he knew it was the right thing to rescue her – he just wasn’t sure he cared; it was enough for him that Buffy did.  
  
Dragging on a cigarette, Spike contemplated the mansion in front of him.  If he could hate a building, Spike hated this one.  Hadn’t liked the decor from the beginning, all pseudo Spanish castello with a bit of art-deco thrown in for good measure, it housed some of the worst memories of his existence.  
  
Being unable to walk while Angel fucked his woman under his bloody nose – within eye and ear-shot of him – hours on end.  
  
His rage had been what set him on this path – the behavior of the two of them – carrying on like he didn’t even exist or was so far beneath their notice that it didn’t merit consideration had been the impetus that goaded him into seeking out his own personal nemesis.  
  
He’d already decided that it had been worth it – all that humiliation and anger.  Stretching his neck side to side, Spike dropped the smoldering cigarette butt onto the ground, grinding it out with his boot.  Addressing his companion, Spike said, “Let’s go slay the minions.”  
  
The bot’s only reaction was a bright perky smile and an, “Okie dokie, Spike.”  
  
Rolling his eyes, Spike followed after the bot.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The sounds of fighting reached both of them at the same time, and Drusilla looked up from her position between Cordelia’s thighs and growled.  
  
It took Angel a moment longer, but when Spike’s unmistakable chuckle sounded in the air, he moved away from the two women, reaching for his trousers, muttering curses as he dressed.  
  
Slapping Drusilla on the ass, Angel said, “Now, princess, no time to play with our guest.”  
  
She scrambled from the bed, scampering into their room to retrieve her clothes.  They could hear the sounds of fighting, Spike’s voice throwing laughing insults at his foes while Buffy’s voice chattered inanely in the background.  
  
They were dressed and at the door of the bedroom in time to watch the Slayer and her pet dust some minions – one of which Angel had come to rely upon because of his brain and skill with electronics.  With a growl Angel headed for Drusilla’s errant childe.  
  
Sensing the presence of the other two, Spike signaled to the bot and slowly started retreating for the door.  Drusilla screeched when the bot smacked her in the head, then followed Spike out the door.  
  
The fight spilled out into the street, as Spike and the bot slowly gave ground.  
  
Focusing on the bond between himself and Buffy, Spike sent his message through to her.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She hated watching him go.  Hated the idea that he was fighting without her.  Hated waiting.  Buffy really, really hated waiting.  
  
Not for the first time since Spike and her robotic doppelganger had walked out the door, Buffy turned concerned eyes on the two Watchers and said, “I should have gone.”  
  
This last time Giles had merely raised an eyebrow and remained silent, while Wesley drank his tea.  “How can you two be so calm?  Is it some strange English guy thing?”  
  
Wesley merely smiled while Giles answered, “Yes.  We’re bred this way, don’t you know?”  
  
“Very funny.”  She stopped talking, the quip dying before she voiced it.  She waited a bit listening to something only she could hear and then after a moment of intense concentration, said, “Okay people, let’s get ready.”  
  
The general clattering of weapons being picked then discarded sounded in the quiet suburban home and grim faces were evident all around.  Wesley hefted a pair of heavy bolt-cutters in addition to a sword, while Giles decided between an axe and a short sword.  Anya watched them, then got up to leave the room.  
  
She was back in moments, thrusting an old sheet at Buffy.  “Here, take this.”  
  
“What for?”  Buffy looked from it to Anya wondering what on earth the other girl was thinking.  
  
“For Cordelia.  In case she’s all naked and bloody.  Because I wouldn’t want all these strange men looking at me unless it was group. . . well, never mind, you know what I mean.”  
  
And strangely enough, once Anya started to explain, Buffy knew exactly what she meant.  Thanking her, Buffy motioned to the sheet.  “Think you can find another one just in case?”  
  
With a quiet nod, Anya headed for the second floor linen closet.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
They were halfway down the block when Drusilla tried gouging out the fake Slayer’s eyes and the bot retaliated by knocking her off her feet, sending her into the side of another house, setting off alarms.  Spike paused in his all out battle with Angel, calling out to the bot, then with a look that was designed to boil the older vampire’s borrowed blood, Spike taunted him mercilessly.  
  
Drusilla got to her feet, practically flying toward the bot, while it and Spike continued to draw the other two away.  The bot aimed another whirling kick at Drusilla, this time missing her and Drusilla stalked after the robot, hissing and swaying like a maddened cat.  Spike nailed Angel from behind, grabbing his attention with a series of punches to the bigger vampire’s gut, driving him backwards toward a house with shrieking alarms.  
  
Police sirens sounded and although they weren’t part of his original plan, Spike used them to his advantage.  “Love to continue this, gramps, but Sunnydale’s most oblivious are arrivin'.  Might want to chase after Dru an’ hide. . .” and with that he raced off after the two fighting females.  
  
Angel took a moment to shake off the broken ribs, realized what Spike had said and followed.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike’s second message ripped through her head and Buffy growled at everyone.  “Let’s move people, now.”  
  
She grabbed the sheets Anya had gathered and headed for the door.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
They cruised up to the mansion without lights, the whirling flare of the police vehicles at the end of the block not impeding their progress.  
  
Buffy was out of the Jeep before Wesley had come to a complete stop, heading straight for the front door.  Xander was right behind her and the two Englishmen made up the rear.  She only slowed down as she neared the door, trying to sense how many minions were left behind.  
  
Not watching to see who was behind her, Buffy said, “I’m going in first.  Everyone in pairs, Xander you stay with me.  Giles and Wes, you go find Cordy.  We’ll back you up.”  
  
Deciding stealth wasn’t important, Buffy kicked open the door and stormed in.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike caught up with Drusilla and the bot just as Dru pinned the bot against one of the old high school walls.  Swaying slightly, the vampire sing-songed at the bot, trying to thrall her.  If the situation wasn’t so important, to keep Dru and Angelus occupied, Spike would have laughed out loud.  As it stood, he was still trying not to chuckle.  
  
Instead, he grabbed Drusilla by the throat, grinding out, “Can’t let you do that, pet.”  
  
With her nails drawing furrows in his hands, Spike held her up off the ground until he could hear the lumbering feet of his grandsire.  Making a face and glancing at the bot, Spike said, “I’ll take care of Dru, love, you see to the poofter.”  
  
Angel loomed into view and the bot nailed the side of his head with a flying kick that had him reeling.  Spike watched with a jaded eye while Drusilla shrieked and scrambled trying to pry his vice-like fingers from around her neck.  
  
To Spike’s eye – it was obvious this wasn’t Buffy – but neither of the other two had spent the amount of time with her that he had, not nearly enough to know the difference.  Which just amused him no end.  
  
Some death-defying love Angel had professed.  Couldn’t even tell his “ _love_ ” wasn’t real.  
  
Spike laughed.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy was trying hard to believe it was this simple.  The house was deserted – no minions guarding at all.  It was almost no fun.  And then her mind registered that _no, tonight wasn’t supposed to be fun_ – it was supposed to be just about rescuing Cordelia.  
  
It wasn’t until they headed for the short flight of steps leading to the mid-level that the first sign of resistance appeared.  Two vampires came at them, bigger and stronger than any of them had expected.  Buffy ducked under a punch, rolling to her feet behind one, dusting him from the back, when another three vamps came up from the first floor, surrounding them.  
  
Leaving Xander and Giles to battle the first vampire, Buffy turned to aid Wesley who was barely holding his own against the newcomers.  Quickly knocking two of them away, Buffy held onto one while Wesley sliced off its head, and then turned as one of the others jumped on Xander’s back.  Yelling “duck!”  Buffy swung them both around and Xander dropped to his knees, giving Buffy a clear path to the vamp’s chest.  
  
Outnumbered two to one now, the vampires broke and ran.  Giles headed unerringly toward the room where he’d spotted Cordelia, motioning toward the other room, calling out to Xander, “There’s another girl in there.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The sudden disappearance of her captors had roused Cordelia from the fugue state she retreated to.  The noises and sounds from the outer rooms meant nothing, although she thought, at one point, that she’d heard Buffy’s voice, but dismissed it as her mind’s wish, not reality.  
  
It wasn’t long before the noises had stopped, leaving a void that again allowed her to slip out of consciousness.  She never heard the whoop of the nearby house alarm, nor the renewed sounds of fighting, until the door to her cell splintered and cracked.  
  
Fear rose up in her belly, racing through her like a firestorm and her entire body started convulsing.  Voices and images swam around her, making no sense and Cordy screamed a long wild keening cry of abject fear and terror, raising the hackles of her rescuers, echoing in the suddenly still house.  
  
A crisp cool voice echoed in her head, calling her name while strong hands pushed and pulled at her bonds, ripping open half-healed cuts.  The sickly sweet scent of fresh blood filled the air and Cordelia cried out as her bonds were loosened, her arms brought down to her sides.  
  
“Cordy, Cordy. . . it’s me.  C’mon, Cordy. . . shhhh . . . it’s Buffy.”  
  
Cordelia opened one eye, saw the blond hair through the haze of tears and screamed.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
It was carnage.  
  
Brutal.  
  
The body that once forged almost every wet dream of a teenaged Xander Harris was destroyed beyond imagining.  
  
There was blood everywhere.  
  
Dried spots on the floor.  
  
Newer, fresher sticky wet puddles of it around the bed.  
  
Big blooming splotches of it, like obscene roses, on the sheets beneath the pale body.  
  
A once virginal bride’s veil was stuck to her battered skin, dyed maroon and cerise, and garish girly shades of pink.  
  
Buffy forced away the rising nausea at her once reluctant friend’s form and battled her own tears.  
  
Wesley stopped behind her, staring at the nightmare vision before them.  “My god,” breathed from him and Buffy silently echoed the sentiment.  
  
Giles was moving toward the bed, able to focus only on parts – not the whole of the damage.  Grasping his lethally sharp blade, he sliced through the leather as near to her skin as possible.  
  
Her arm coming free galvanized the still form on the bed.  Shivering, shaking, she flailed out at her rescuers, unable to comprehend she was saved because of the terror rising in her.  
  
Buffy and Wesley moved together, their shock wearing off in the face of Cordelia’s reaction.  Xander appeared in the doorway and Buffy yelled at him to get the sheets.  Her eyes had been drawn to the bloodied veil and her brain focused on removing the obscenity from Cordelia’s flesh.  
  
She was screaming now, absolute terror ruling her and every time one of them tried to touch her, she writhed and bucked off their hands.  Wesley cut the last of her bonds and Cordelia lashed out with heartbreakingly feeble strength, kicking and flailing.  Buffy tried calling out for her, using her name, calling her repeatedly and yet each time Cordelia’s convulsing worsened.   She stilled as Xander returned, handing Buffy the sheets, opening one eye.  
  
Cordelia appeared to focus, then let loose with a bloodcurdling scream.  
  
With tears streaming down her face, Buffy looked at the three men around her, noting they too were crying, and made a decision.  Whispering softly to Cordelia, Buffy simply said, “Sorry”, drew back her fist and knocked Cordelia out cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from one of the quotes (yet twisted a bit)


	30. Ache of heaven

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 30.  Ache of heaven  
  
The easiest period in a crisis situation is actually the battle itself.   
The most difficult is the period of indecision—whether to fight or run away.   
And the most dangerous period is the aftermath.  
     Richard M. Nixon, Six Crises, 1962.   
  
  
Crystal tears   
battered innocent flesh  
ache of heaven  
rage of hell  
unwanted angel  
unspeakable violation  
bruised bleeding ripped and torn  
lambent eyes clouded with rage  
silver shards of ice filled pain  
snarling sneering  
gasping shame  
desecrated angel  
bleeding life away  
    Niamh O’Connor, 1998_**  
  
  
  
Moving her, once she was unconscious, was simple.  Unfortunately doing so opened nearly all of the cuts on her skin, and the sheet they wrapped her in was quickly saturated.  
  
Wesley’s call to Dr. Thomas alerted him to their arrival.  The Englishman’s description of her external injuries had the doctor directing them to the Emergency Room, and he promised Wesley that he and a select team of emergency personnel would meet them there.  
  
None of them spoke.  
  
There were no words to encompass what they’d seen.  
  
Even Cordelia’s superficial injuries, the cuts and bruises, were horrible.  There was no way of knowing what kind of internal damage had been done.  It was clear that Angel had raped her repeatedly but none of them said a word.  
  
Buffy was fighting tears and nausea, even as she held Cordelia’s head in her lap.  This wasn’t the work of the vampire she’d loved.  Couldn’t be . . . her mind couldn’t wrap around the idea that her Angel. . . but he wasn’t hers.  Hadn’t ever really ever been hers.  This savagery was what the soul caged – the brutality and . . . Buffy swallowed hard, fighting to keep her stomach from spewing its contents all over.    
  
He hadn’t touched her face at all.  
 _  
What kind of sick fucker destroyed his victim from the neck down and didn’t touch her face?_   Xander was at a total loss, trying to understand why Cordelia looked so peaceful, her face untouched.  The only thought, the only answer his brain could come up with was a frightening prospect.  Angel didn’t want to destroy her face because he planned on looking at it for a very, very long time.  
  
Giles couldn’t focus on anything but a silent prayer.  He was thanking god – whatever deity – that had protected and watched over them all those years ago – the first time Angelus had raged throughout Sunnydale.  He thanked god for the small mercy of finding Cordelia before she’d been turned.  He thanked god too, for his rescue from the vicious hands of Angel.  There was no way he would have survived the tortures Angelus had planned for him without Spike’s intervention.  He had no idea how much damage Cordelia had sustained, her surface injuries were bad enough, the internal and emotional damage would take years to recover from – if she survived.  His intuition was telling him that the internal injuries were extensive, more extensive than her body indicated – and he had serious doubts about her recovery.  
  
He wasn’t alone in his worry.    
  
Wesley, like Buffy, was fighting tears and nausea, but like Giles, was masking those feelings in anger and white hot rage.  This . . . was done by someone who had professed to be a friend – who’d had feelings for Cordelia.  What had been done to the girl was brutal.  He wanted to weep, wanted to rage – wanted to grab Angel’s throat between his hands and squeeze until his head separated from his neck and his dust rained down on his skin.  
  
At that moment, there wasn’t a one of them in the car that wasn’t willing to dust Angel.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Spike had felt through the bond the moment they’d gotten Cordelia out and away.  Now it was just a matter of eluding the other two and heading toward Sunnydale General, where they’d taken Cordelia.  The original plan had them meeting up in one of the cemeteries, confusing the two master vampires with multiple Buffys, but that had changed when Spike altered the plans.  He knew, from Buffy’s thoughts, they’d headed directly toward the hospital and that was where he was going to meet her.  
  
Grabbing the bot’s hand, Spike headed for the sewers, knowing it was the easiest way of hiding their scent and losing the other two.  Just like her real counterpart, the bot complained the entire trip through the sewers.  Spike ignored it, his concentration on moving forward and listening for any signs of pursuit.  After twenty minutes or so, Spike slowed down, heading straight for the hospital.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Dawn was half-asleep on the couch, while Anya paced about, waiting for any word.  She’d finished cleaning the bathrooms, had vacuumed the first floor and had straightened up the dining room.  There was no way she could sit still while everyone else did all the hero stuff.  Not that she was the hero type, but she still couldn’t just sit around like Dawn.  
  
Anya looked over at the sleeping girl, unable to believe she was so calm.  Dawn shifted, opened her eyes and Anya took the opportunity to talk.  “How can you sleep?  This is nerve-wracking.  I can’t even sit still and you’re calm enough to sleep.  How do you do that? Is there some trick?  What do you do?  Is it meditation?  Did Buffy teach you that?”  
  
“Anya?  I’m tired.  I get up early for school and it’s just nothing more than me being really tired.”  She paused a moment, gauging Anya’s expression.  “It’s also that, you know, I’ve been doing this for years.  Since Buffy was fifteen.”  
  
“So this is just another night.  Just another rescue mission.”  Anya perched on the armchair, looking expectantly at the younger girl.  
                              
“Well, this is a little different, because it’s Cordelia.  And it’s someone . . . Cordy used to be one of us.  A Scoobie.”  
  
Dawn wasn’t prepared for Anya’s reaction.  The ex-demon smiled widely.  “One of us?  You mean I’m one of the Scoobies?”  
  
“Yeah.  Of course you are.”  A wide yawn stretched across her features and Dawn asked, “Have we heard anything?”  
  
“No.”  Checking her watch, Anya said, “It’s only a little bit after two.  We should hear from them soon.”  
  
And, in the way of all things on the hellmouth, that had to be the signal, because both cell phones went off.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Dr. Thomas, with a trauma team in tow, met them at the doors of the Emergency Room, his face grim.  Wesley had tersely relayed Cordelia’s condition, so they were prepared for the worst.  
  
Maureen Osborne was there too, and at the first opportunity she pulled Buffy aside, asking her how her nephew was and also what cover story they had concocted for the authorities.  When Buffy had looked at her somewhat blankly, Maureen had bustled her into a side corridor, chattering softly.  “The police will believe anything, as long as it’s plausible.  Don’t worry, we’ll come up with something.”  
  
When Buffy didn’t answer, instead seemed to crumple under the strain, Maureen pulled her into a private waiting area and handed her a tissue.  “It’s okay, sweetie, your friend is in bad shape.  You can cry.”  
  
Buffy sniffled then said, “I’m okay.  Cordy’s safe now.  I just wish Spike was here.”  
  
“I’m sure he’ll be here shortly.”  Waiting for a moment to see if Buffy needed anything else, Oz’ aunt patted her arm and said, “If you need me, I’ll be doing the paperwork.”  
  
She left Buffy alone, staring at the walls of the waiting room.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Giles and Wesley stood outside the doorway to the trauma room, waiting anxiously for any word of Cordelia’s condition.  Xander was pacing around, muttering to himself, his hands tucked under his arms, tears dripping down his cheeks.  
  
Wesley said something that Giles didn’t hear and when he repeated himself, the older man snapped his head around to look at him.  Giles stepped away from the door to find Buffy and to call the girls to let them know they’d been successful.  
  
He walked outside the hospital doors, knowing that once Angelus and Drusilla discovered Cordelia had been rescued, there would be hell to pay.  Angelus did not like his plans thwarted or interrupted in any way – and it had been obvious to Giles that he’d planned to turn Cordelia.  His reluctance to mar her features was a dead giveaway.  Added to the fact that he hadn’t bled her to death before they’d discovered her – Giles was fairly certain of it.  
  
Sending out the all clear code on the cell phones, Giles was surprised when he heard the tell-tale chirp of another phone seconds later.  
  
“Figured you lot were here.  Everyone all right?”  Spike’s voice sounded in the dark and Giles barely turned around when the bot was standing next to him staring up into his face.  
  
“We’re fine.  Cordelia’s inside.”  Giles looked away, fighting tears again.  “It was. . . worse than expected.”  
  
“Thought so.”  Spike was quiet for a moment, knowing nothing he could say would be enough for any of them.  He’d never been like Angel, carving up his victims, destroying their entire lives, torturing them mentally and physically.  No, he’d been more direct – bash and crash – all sound and fury.  None of  that would serve as anything other than cold comfort.  And lip service on his part.  He respected Rupert too much to give him that.  “Where’s Buffy?”  
  
“She’s inside.”  
  
Dropping his cigarette butt, Spike said, “‘M goin’ in.  You comin’?”  At Giles’ negative shake, Spike said, “Keep the bot with you.  Jus’ in case.”  
  
Giles nodded, “I’ll be in shortly.”  
  
Spike nodded once, then headed inside.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Buffy was still sitting in the private waiting area, watching the hallways of the emergency room, at the activity in and around the trauma room Cordelia was in, ears attuned to any hint of commotion in the hallways.  
  
Twice she’d almost gone to find Oz’ aunt, more for the comfort of the older mom-type woman that she represented than for a need of company, although that wouldn’t be bad either.  The last two times she’d been in this building she’d nearly lost the two most important people in her life.  
  
Her mom.  
  
Spike.  
  
Joyce’s first brush with death had been in the halls upstairs and had devastated both her and Dawn.  Yeah, her mother had survived a few weeks, nearly a few months, but the end had still started here.  Tears rose in Buffy’s eyes as she thought about her mother. _Oh, Mommy. . . I’m so. . . I miss you so much.  I wish you were here._ A sob escaped from her throat and Buffy put her head in her hands and let the tears fall.  _Oh, Mom . . . being here is so hard. . .   Everything about this life is . . .  But you were right about him . . . about Spike.  He’s been . . . god, Mom, I love him so much.  Without him, I’d have been really lost.  
_  
Fresh tears dripped down her cheeks and Buffy shredded the tissue between her slim fingers.  A tingle of awareness shot through her and Buffy lifted her head, looking out for Spike.  
  
He was standing barely in her line of sight, talking to Wesley, while Xander hovered nearby.  Despite her tears and worry about Cordelia, just the sight of him was enough to bring a steadying breath and an almost smile to her face.  There was something so solid, so real about him and if you didn’t know he was a vampire, there was a strength to his carriage that said here was a guy you could lean on and let be the strong one.  Hell, maybe being a vampire just made that more evident.  For the first time, Buffy tried sending a complete thought, a phrase through the bond, just to grab his attention.  Concentrating hard, Buffy thought of him and focused on the words in her head.  
  
She watched as his body straightened, his head tilting sideways as he listened to something only he could hear, motioning Wesley to quiet with an upraised hand.  A smile bloomed across his features and he slowly turned to look in her direction.  His eyes bored into hers as he left the two men, moving toward her.  Tucking his thumbs into his waistband, Spike prowled forward like the slinky predator he was, his eyes never leaving hers.    
  
Spike came to a stop just in front of her, a grin on his face.  Buffy tilted her head up to look at him and a shy smile crept across her wide mouth as she took in the expression on his face.  His deep voice wafted over her.  “Love you too, kitten.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
One by one they had all drifted into the private waiting area; Wesley first to join them.  He sat opposite Spike, his long limbs folded into an uncomfortable looking shape, his head was tilted back against the wall and his eyes were closed, though none of them were fooled into believing he was asleep.  With the presence of the two younger Englishmen, Buffy’s over-stretched nerves were calmed and she leaned further into Spike’s arms.  
  
Xander came in next, bringing coffee and hot chocolate as a peace offering, which was silently accepted.  He sat down in a chair next to Wesley, leaning forward, elbows on knees and more composed than he’d been earlier.  Giles and the bot wandered in last, the bot trailing behind the older man, her eyes darting about and taking in the surroundings.  The coffee cups were lined up on the table between the anxious group and Giles leaned over to grab one of them.  With a gesture to the bot, Giles sat down next to Spike.  Glancing round at their faces, Giles asked, “No word yet?”  
  
Negative head shakes were his only answer.  
  
Buffy yawned, leaning more heavily against Spike’s chest.  A tiny shiver snaked its way through her and Spike stood up to slip the duster off and around her.  “Wanna lay down, pet?”  
  
She shrugged, looking up at him with very tired doe eyes and a minute quiver to her lips.  Without a word he scooped her up, saying to the others, “‘M takin’ her home.  Give us a ring when you get word, yeah?”  
  
The others just nodded, but it was Buffy herself who started to protest.  “We should stay, at least until we know. . .  Spike?”  
  
He was shaking his head in refusal when Maureen Osborne approached.  “Buffy?”  She was looking from the bot to the girl in Spike’s arms, confusion clearly written on her features.  
  
“Here.”  She waved a bit from her spot in Spike’s arms, then asked, “Is there any word on Cordelia?”  
  
“Yes.”  She paused while the rest of the  men got to their feet.  “They managed to stop the internal bleeding, but her spleen was ruptured and her liver’s been bruised.  She just left surgery and she’s in recovery.  They’re going to put her in a private ICU room.  And she’s going to have an armed guard outside her door.”  
  
Relieved looks were exchanged, although Giles exchanged a look with Spike that spoke volumes.  “Did they remove her spleen?”  
  
“Yes.  She’s being transfused also.  She’d lost an enormous amount of blood and, I’m not going to lie to you, it was very close.  But they managed to stop all the hemorrhaging.”  
  
Xander asked, “When can we see her?”  
  
Maureen was shaking her head, “Not for hours.  Go home.  Get some rest, come back around three.  She might be awake then.”  
  
But both Wesley and Xander were shaking their heads, and Wesley’s voice sounded first.  “I’d like to stay.”  
  
Spike raised an eyebrow and Wesley answered his unspoken question by gesturing toward his jacket pocket.  Turning toward Xander, Wesley said, “You go home, I’ll stay now and you can relieve me later.”  
  
He started to splutter his disagreement, when Giles voiced his own quietly worded statement, “I’m sure Anya is worried and you should probably take her home and reassure her that everything is well.”     
  
That stopped Xander’s protests.  
  
Wesley handed the Jeep’s keys to Spike and after thanking Maureen Osborne for everything, those going home headed quietly for the door.  Thinking quickly, Spike backtracked a bit, then motioned to Wesley with his chin.  “Keep the bot here, jus’ in case.  Better safe than sorry, right?”  
  
Sighing deeply, Wesley eyed the robot with amused distaste, but knowing the value of Spike’s experience and trusting he wouldn’t say something like that if he didn’t think it was necessary, Wesley nodded his agreement.    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Angel sniffed the air one more time, trying to gain a sense of the direction Spike and Buffy had headed, but the trail was long cold and diffused with the sewer scents.  His growl of frustrated anger echoed off the cement walls surrounding the two master vampires and Drusilla clapped her hands over her ears to block the sounds.  It did nothing to help the reverberations that pulsed in her as an answer to her Sire’s distress, however, only making the situation worse by adding her temper to his.  
  
He’d lost the two not long after they had descended into the sewers and although he could try and backtrack to the point of entry, Angel knew it was a lost cause.  Traces of Spike’s signature were all over these tunnels, and there was no way of knowing which ones were more recent than the others, due to the other, less pleasant odors wafting from the sludge beneath their feet.  Once more growling his disgust and anger, Angel motioned Drusilla to his side.  “Let’s go.  We’re not going to be able to track them.”  
  
He grabbed Drusilla by the arm, pulling her behind him as he made his way to the nearest entrance.  It had been years since he’d been down in these sewers and his memory of them was hazy at best.  It would be easier once above ground to get a location and make their way back to the mansion from there.  Spying one of the sewer entrances not more than twenty paces behind him, Angel climbed up the ladder and emerged into the pre-dawn darkness.  The night barely held sway, though it was only about an hour or so before the inky midnight sky gave way to early morning, Angel could feel the sun making its way eastward.  Standing over the sewer entrance, his eyes scanning about as he waited for Drusilla to make the climb into the night, Angel’s gaze landed on a very familiar area.    
  
They were just outside of Restfield.    
  
No more than a handful of blocks from Revello Drive.  
  
Grinning down into the darkness, Angel said, “Come now, Dru, we’re not far from family.  Maybe we should pay a visit.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Spike glanced at the clock in the Jeep, his eyes disbelieving the device.  It was just after five in the morning.  No wonder everyone was punchy and tired, well, except for him.  Buffy was more than half asleep in the seat next to him, curled up underneath his duster, her head dropping forward every couple of seconds.  Giles and Xander were very quiet in the back and Spike glanced once in the rearview mirror to check if they too had fallen asleep.  But they hadn’t.  Both males were still awake, just not inclined to filling the silence.  
  
He couldn’t blame them.  What they’d witnessed tonight had to affect all of them.  He’d be surprised if they didn’t have nightmares for a long time to come about this.  Though Giles never admitted it out loud, he knew there were some sleepless nights for the Watcher that blame for could be laid solely on Angel’s shoulders.  He and Giles had spent too many sleepless nights together, both when he was captive and tied up, and later, just this past summer.  Spike could tell when someone was haunted by memories they’d rather not have experienced – hard not to know when sometimes it was what he himself shied away from.  There were plenty of memories he’d rather not have to relive.  More than enough.  Buffy too, was often affected by nightmares, although that was easing somewhat.  
  
Kind of hard not to have monsters invading your sleep when that was what you faced every single day.  The trick for the humans was not to let the nightmares, which highlighted unconscious fears, become reality.   Xander shifted, breaking his train of thought, and Spike glanced back in the rearview mirror again.  He couldn’t meet any of them in the eye that way, though he knew Harris could sense he’d gained Spike’s attention.  
  
“You all right?”  For once, Spike wasn’t going to goad the boy into a fight.  There had been too much bloodshed in the last few hours, Spike had no desire to get into anything.  All he wanted was to get home and crawl into bed with his woman, affirming that they were both safe and sound.  
  
Xander was just as subdued as Spike, perhaps even more so.  He knew what kind of evilness a vampire was – he just had forgotten how truly brutal they could be.  And he was beginning to realize something else that he just wasn’t quite ready to face, something that each of the others had gone through in the past few months.  A re-assessment of the difference between Spike and other vampires.  “I guess.”    
  
Spike let it go, knowing any more talk could lead to a brangle and at the moment, he just wasn’t in the mood.  The Jeep cruised along the quiet streets of Sunnydale, encountering no traffic, when Giles said softly, “I think I just saw Drusilla and Angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from the poem, which was written by me (the title for the poem is Desecrated Angel)


	31. Things of bestial shape

**_Book Two.  
  
Chapter 31.  Things of bestial shape  
  
As a child, my heart bleeds for him.   
Someone took a little boy and turned him into a monster.   
But as an adult... as an adult, he's irredeemable.   
He butchers whole families to fulfill some sick fantasy.   
As an adult, I think someone should blow the sick fuck out of his socks.  
    Manhunter, 1987  
  
Art, like Nature, has her monsters, things of bestial shape and with hideous voices.   
    Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray_**  
  
  
  
Once the “All clear” signal came through from Giles, Dawn smiled sleepily at the former demon keeping her company, yawned widely and said, “Okay, I’m heading for bed.”  
  
“Wait!  We don’t know how soon they’re coming back.”  Anya held her back, hoping the teen would keep her company.  
  
Dawn shifted on the couch, moving away from Anya.  “Look, they’ll be back soon, because, well, just because, but I so need sleep.”  Putting her head down, Dawn closed her eyes.  “I’m gonna stay right here, ‘cept I’m going to sleep.”  
  
Anya huffed a bit, though settled down when it was obvious Dawn wasn’t going anywhere.  The two girls were quiet, the television on, an infomercial airing that neither girl was paying the least bit of attention to, as they waited.  Dawn’s eyes drifted closed and Anya, finally relaxing enough to get comfortable, also succumbed to the sandman’s lure.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
“Fuck.”  Spike’s one word epithet rang through the Jeep, low voiced and menacing. “You sure?”  
  
“I believe it was them, yes.”  Giles spoke just as quietly, his eyes on the side streets as they  continued through the still dark streets of Sunnydale.  
  
Spike was quiet for a moment, then said, “Need to warn Oxford.”  Turning the corner from  Main onto Revello, only two blocks from the house, the vampire added, “Too close to sunrise.  Doubt they’ll risk getting involved in much of anything an’ they both know they can’t get into the house.  They’ll probably cruise by then head right for the mansion.”  
  
“You hope.”  Xander’s voice was terse, his nerves stretching thin again.  
  
“An educated guess.  ‘S what I would do.  Can’t risk getting caught.  Sunlight isn’t forgiving.  ‘Sides, the house is too heavily warded against vamps.”  Spike pulled into the driveway, reaching over to gently shake Buffy awake.  He was beginning to get concerned about her, she usually wasn’t this tired or this willing to appear less than her best in front of anyone but him, especially lately.  
  
“Except one.”  Xander bit out the snide comment before his brain could override his mouth and Spike whirled around as he got out of the car, pinning him with a hard glare.  
  
“‘S right.  I live here.  This is m’house, whelp, an’ sooner you adjust better off you’ll be.”  
  
Giles grumbled from his side of the vehicle.  “Must you two always do this?  The territorial male posturing is so very tiring.  Most especially at,” and he glanced tiredly down at his watch, “five thirty-six in the morning.”  
  
Xander sputtered out something else, though Spike ignored him to circle the car and get Buffy.  Giles passed the dark haired young man, his brow raised pointedly and strode into the quiet house.  
  
With Buffy lurching sleepily at his side, Spike headed for the house, tossing out over his shoulder, “Don’t wanna be caught outside, Harris, better get a move on.”  
  
And just like that he deflated any arguments or nasty comments Xander might have thrown at him, at least for the moment.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She was so still, her chest barely moving, the machines doing the majority of the work for her bruised and battered body.  
  
Oxygen and fluids were being forced into her dehydrated cells, lending a false color to her cheeks.  _Cordelia looks so peaceful lying there,_ Wesley thought, _as long as I don’t look at her arms._  
  
White gauze bandages covered most of her arms, the IVs stuck into the only veins strong enough to sustain the influx of necessary fluids, at both sides of her neck.  Most of the smaller cuts hadn’t even been bandaged, the surgeons using crazy glue instead mainly to cut down on the number of scars.  She was going to have more than enough of those as it stood; not all of them would ever show.  The surgeon had told him it had been necessary because of the severity of her injuries to induce a coma.  He’d also told Wesley that the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours were the most crucial.  If any one of her blood vessels burst, there was a real possibility they would lose her.  The internal damage was that great.  
  
Angelus had done his work well.  
  
 _Oh, Cordelia, I am so very sorry.  I should have voiced my concerns sooner, not allowed this.  Not left you in his hands so very long._ Wesley bowed his head, fighting angry tears.  All this because Angel had feelings for her.  It was outrageous.  It was disgusting.  It was . . . Wesley couldn’t find words to describe how violently disgusted and disturbed he was by Angel’s actions.  
  
To have. . . to be violated by someone who wore the face of a friend was beyond betrayal.  He’d raped her repeatedly, sodomized her as well.   Battered and beaten her until she was nearly dead.  Drained of her blood and starved her.  The list of her injuries was chilling.  
  
It would be nothing short of a miracle if Cordelia survived.  
  
Wesley sat down in the chair next to her bed, praying harder than he could ever remember doing.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Angel watched from the shadows shrouding the house across the street from 1630 Revello Drive, Drusilla by his side, as her errant childe arrived at his human’s home.  A sneer crossed his features and he spat on the ground.  “Drusilla, we need to do something about that.”  
  
“Too late, Daddy . . . so very late.”  She crooned softly, a sad smile on her face.  “My prince is long gone, lost in sunshine and baby strawberries, smelling roses and dancing with tea cozies.”  
  
“Dru, maybe we should just. . .”  Angel stopped talking when he saw Spike stop, his back stiffening as he sensed the presence of both master vampires.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Halfway between the car and the front door, Spike hesitated a moment, then he said in a whisper, “Xander, get in the house.”  
  
Xander Harris froze.  He could probably count on one hand the number of times Spike had ever used his first name.  His use of it right now could only mean something very bad was about to happen or something very scary was nearby.  Recovering by deftly tripping over his own feet, Xander ambled his way to the front door.  
  
Buffy looked up at Spike when he’d spoken and his meaning came through silently yet all too clearly. “Across the street, sunshine.  Watching us both.”  
  
“Wards?”  
  
“Up and operational, including the new one tied to the electric.”  
  
“Kay.  Tired now.”  And to prove her unspoken point, Buffy yawned and stumbled into his side.  
  
Wrapping his arm around her and steadying her, Spike walked them up the steps and into the house, firmly closing the door behind him.  
  
 _Take that you Irish fucker_ , Spike fumed as he locked the door.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“That piss ass feckin . . .”  Angelus muttered expletives under his unneeded breath, cursing Drusilla’s insolent get.  _Bastard should’ve learned by now not to try and play with his elders.  He’ll always lose._  
  
Striding off back toward the mansion, Angel didn’t realize Drusilla wasn’t following him until he was half a block away.  “Drusilla.  Time to go now.”  
  
But she wasn’t listening to him, she was listening to the mournful pixies that were singing in her head.  Who they were singing for, Drusilla didn’t know, but for the repetition of one phrase.  “Bell tolls. . . bell tolls.   Daddy?”  
  
Angel had returned for his own madwoman, his tone for once gentle.  “They’re talking to you, are they?”  
  
“Uuuuhhhh.”  Dru swayed a bit, lost to a vision, unable to speak clearly.  Angel watched her babble and sway for another long minute, then feeling the twinges that signaled daybreak, he scooped her up and strode off into the waning night.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Right then.  ‘Fore everyone toddles off for shut-eye, need to talk.”  Spike said as he almost kicked the front door shut.  “Angelus was outside jus’ now, watchin’ the house.”  He paused, making sure he had everyone’s attention.  “No one’s out after dark.  He doesn’t know yet that we’ve taken the cheerleader back.  He’s gonna try and hurt us now.  Every one has to be careful.  Don’t fancy any more rescue ops.”  
  
No one contradicted him, not even Dawn.  For once, they all understood exactly what price carelessness would extract.  
  
“Whelp, you an’ your bird can sleep in Joyce’s old room.  Air mattresses are all set up.  Watcher?”  At Giles’ raised eyebrow, Spike snorted.  “Sleepin’ on the couch again.  Gonna start chargin’ you rent.”  
  
Buffy laughed tiredly, remarking, “You could write it off as a counsel expense.”  When no one but her thought it was funny, Buffy grumbled a bit, “Must be exhausted.  I’m too tired to pun.”  
  
Spike pulled her to her feet from her seat on the stairs, saying, “G’night all.”  
  
      
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Wesley had pulled his chair close to the bed, enough so that he could touch Cordelia and stay seated.  Not overly religious, Wesley had spent most of his life serving good, almost serving a higher power, and at this moment he couldn’t come up with much of a reason why he’d done so.  
  
Cordelia had been butchered.  
  
Savaged.  
  
Brutalized.  
  
By the face and hands of a . . . not a man. . .but a being who claimed to value her position in his life.  Wesley was sickened by it.  Disgusted and despaired for Cordelia’s spirit.  As an Englishman of a certain station, Wesley was supposed to maintain a stalwart mein in dire circumstances.  As a former Watcher, he was supposed to make that rise to another level.  He wasn’t supposed to ache with suppressed rage; to shake with suppressed despair and weep with profound sorrow.  
  
Nor was he supposed to pray.  
  
Yet Wesley did all that, sitting beside the broken, battered and barely alive form of Cordelia Chase.  
  
Dropping his head down onto the bed, Wesley prayed to any god for compassion and strength.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Anya trooped up the stairs behind Buffy and Spike, who was prodding the very tired Slayer  up the steps, murmuring so soft and low that none of his words filtered through to her.  Dawn was just ahead of Buffy, mumbling something about school and holidays that Anya didn’t quite understand.  Xander was the last one up the stairs, watching the sleepy parade, his eyes watching the interaction between the two blonds.  There was a general closing of doors and muttered goodnights as he finally took the stairs, the fatigue and the emotional turmoil of Cordelia’s rescue finally catching up with him.  
  
Pushing his way into Joyce’s old room, Xander was surprised to see boxes piled up in one corner and swatches of paint on the walls, as if someone couldn’t decide what color scheme to use.  All of Joyce’s old bedroom furniture was gone, the only evidence of her occupation of the room the dark curtains and the boxes with her name on them.  It saddened him, to see her things put away in boxes, when he looked closer, some of those boxes had Willow’s name on them.  Xander sighed, wondering what his oldest friend was up to, and hoping that things weren’t so broken between everyone that they couldn’t be fixed.    
  
Anya was already under the sheets, her head down on a borrowed pillow and she drowsily said, “Come to bed, Xander, it’s late.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike pushed the door to their room open, at the same time pushing Buffy over the threshold.  “C’mon, sunshine, into bed.”  
  
Quickly divesting her of her clothes, Spike tossed her one of his tee-shirts and moved to get his boots off when Connor started fussing in the crib.  Getting up quickly to head off the howling that was threatening, Spike lifted the squirming bundle into his arms.    
  
“Where are you going?”  Buffy managed to mumble as her head hit the pillow.  
  
“Gonna get sprog a bottle.  Be right back.”  
  
He headed downstairs before she could voice a protest and Buffy dropped her head down onto the pillows.  “Stupid vampire.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Drusilla kept up her litany of nonsensical phrases the entire trip back to the mansion.  Angel was trying to figure out what some of what she was saying meant and track his progress at the same time.  Sunlight was coming up fast now, and they had only a few more minutes to get to safety.    
  
Arriving at the mansion, Angel strode through the front door, dropping Drusilla to her feet.  The scent of humans was all over, the signatures clear to his keenly honed sense of smell.  _What the fuck is . . ._ Growling ominously, Angel moved from room to room, finding nothing more than small piles of dust and the more than occasional blood splatter on the walls and floors.  Spike’s scent was strongest in the outer rooms, and there should have been an equally strong smell of Buffy, but strangely enough there wasn’t.  Not as strong as there should have been.    
  
His stride through the rooms was quick, a blurred fast pace, trying to get a sense of what had occurred within the walls of his mansion, before completely losing his temper.  Here and there, scattered about the rooms, were a few badly injured minions, but the majority of them appeared to be gone, dusted by the hand of William the Bloody and his bitch.  Kicking one of them to consciousness, Angel leaned over the bleeding vampire, hauling him up to his feet.  “What happened here?”  
  
“Dunno.  Last thing I remember was fighting the Slayer and then nothing til now.”  The vampire grimaced in pain, letting out a deep yelp when Angel dumped him back on the floor.    
  
“Get yourself someone to eat.”  
  
Knowing somehow that he’d just escaped the final death, the vampire, a fledgling of Drusilla’s, scurried as best he could for the sewers.    
  
Angel continued stalking through the rooms, his growls of disgusted anger getting louder and louder as he progressed through the rooms.  Drusilla’s pet, the girl they’d both taken blood from was gone, her chains empty.  Swearing furiously, Angel stomped into the bedroom where he’d kept Cordelia.  He wasn’t surprised to find her gone.  Not at all.    
  
There’d been some niggling thought in the back of his head that Cordelia had been the reason for the unprovoked assault on his lair.  And now he knew.    
  
That knowledge did nothing to calm his temper.  In fact, it just put match to a heated tinderbox and set it off.  
  
Growling low in his throat, Angelus turned round to the remaining minions.  Before any of them had time to react, his fists were completing the damage started by Spike and Buffy.  
  
Ripping the leather ties from the head and foot boards, along with one of the corners of the bed, Angel flayed the first minion in the line, another one of the ones sired by Drusilla.  Bloody splatters hit the walls and the ceiling, pieces of flesh adhering in various spots.  Groans and cries of pain split the air, coupled with the harsh breathing of the other minions.  Drusilla growled from the doorway, which changed to a high-pitched whine when Angel dropped the makeshift whip and pushed his hand through the minion’s chest.  The others watched helplessly as the dust settled.  
  
“I want to know who was supposed to be guarding the captives?”  
  
None of them spoke.  None dared.  
  
Throwing cautious looks sideways, they all cowered before the raging master vampire, the legendary leader of the Scourge of Europe, waiting for the punishment that was sure to come.  Angelus stood glaring at them all, his features rippling and changing into his vampiric guise, looming over them.  
  
“I left some of you idiots here, so that I would have something to come back to.  And now they’re gone.  Both of them.  Any idea who took them?  Any?”  The last words rose to the level of a shout, and Angelus hauled one of them forward by his shirt collar, bringing him close to his face.  “You better find out how they got out of here.  Now.  Don’t come back until you do.”  
  
He pushed the brown-haired minion away, selecting another to go with him.  They ran from the room, despite knowing that sunrise was only minutes away.  Turning to another minion, this one remarkably well kept and curiously unmarked in the aftermath of battle, Angelus grinned with the prospect of more violence.  “Tell me,” he waited patiently for a name, which came on a whisper, “Ray.  Tell me, Ray, how you managed not to get hurt?”  Angelus brushed an imaginary piece of lint off Ray’s shoulder, leaning into him.  
  
“Wasn’t here.”    
  
“Really?  When did you leave the mansion?”  Angelus circled round him, sniffing him for evidence of lies or nervousness.  There was none.  
  
“Earlier.  Went hunting.”  
  
Which was, unfortunately, no less than the truth.  Angelus stared into Ray’s grey eyes, daring him to back down.  When the fledge didn’t cower like the others, he smiled appreciatively.  “Got balls, Ray.  Makes me happy to see that.  Did you hunt well?”  
  
“Yeah.  Got two.  Took one,” he paused for dramatic effect, “Brought the other back.”  
  
“Did you now?  And where is the other one?”  Angelus watched the effect his proximity had on Ray, gauging how strong he was.  “Who sired you?  You don’t smell like Aurelius.”  
  
“Was sired in Los Angeles.  Some blond bitch.  Never did really get her name.”    
  
“Doesn’t matter now.  Got a job for you, Ray, after I take your offering.  You want it?”  Angel motioned for Drusilla to come forward, running his sharp nails down her arm, slicing a thin cut that bleed freely.  “Dru, feed the nice minion, make him one of us.”  
  
She smiled, running her arm across his lips, then circled behind him to sink her fangs into his jugular.  Ray’s knees buckled a little, but he quickly regained his courage and sunk his own fangs into Drusilla’s arm, at the crux of her elbow.  
  
Abruptly, Angelus turned to face the rest of the bunch, his own fangs glinting.  “Didn’t think I’d forget you pathetic fuckers, now did you?  Anyone remember who was supposed to be watching the girls?”  
  
One of the females tilted her head, then said, “It was Jake and Buddy.  Dunno what happened to them.”  
  
“Ahhhhhh . . . thank you.  So glad someone remembered.”  Gripping her by the throat, Angel squeezed, and squeezed harder, lifting her high in the air.  Then, when it appeared as if he was going to just let her head pop off, he let go, snickering as she dropped to the floor, her face a mask of pained relief.    
  
Whirling on the others, Angel grabbed the broken piece of the bed frame and pounded into one of the minions, a vampire that looked no older than Buffy. The vampire cowered in fear, trying to fend off the enraged master vampire.  The fear wafting from the vampire just incited Angelus more and the beating quickly turned savage.  Bones cracked, teeth were knocked out and still Angelus kept on slamming his fist into the smaller fledgling.    
  
Finally, the vampire dropped to his knees, skull bashed in, arms, legs, and ribs all broken, splintered.  Gore covered Angelus and those nearest, blood spreading over the floor, the remaining minions, those few left to him, watched as the master vampire threw the destroyed wood down on top of the pulpy mass on the floor.  
  
“Toss him into the sun.”  
  
Angel moved away from the mass of tissue and bone while the others cleaned up, his eyes focusing on his now chief minion, newly infused with Aurelian blood.  “Prove yourself, boy, and you might get more,’ he said as he indicated Drusilla.  
  
Moving toward the outer rooms, Angel stopped as a shadow detached from the doorway, eyes trying to discern the shape of the intruder.    
  
A long unheard voice sounded in the chambers, capturing everyone’s attention.  “Hello, Chief.  Heard your call.  Looks like you could use some assistance.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Xander couldn’t settle down, couldn’t stop the buzzing that was filling his bones and racing through his bloodstream.  He could hear the muted noises of everyone else settling in, the murmur of Spike’s voice as he, apparently, headed downstairs for something, the closing of a bedroom door, the tread of his feet on the stairs.  Mere moments passed and then another door opened, soft footsteps sounded, then another door creaked open.  A few minutes went by, then the heavy tread of Spike’s feet, or what he figured was Spike’s feet hit the stairs and bounded up, accompanied by the fretting of a hungry baby.  Thankfully, the mewls were just that, and not the full howls the infant was known for.  Curiosity aroused, Xander glanced down at Anya’s closed eyes and got to his feet.    
  
He tugged open the door just a crack in time to see Spike hesitate at the bathroom door, knock once and ask, “You all right in there?”  
  
Dawn’s voice came through, muffled to his ears, though clearly to Spike’s because he responded, “Jus’ checkin’ is all.  No need to get huffy.”    
  
The response this time was a deep chuckle, and then Dawn opened the door.  “You know, you could be less over-protective sometimes.  Not like I’m sneaking out, just going to the bathroom.”  
  
Her tone was a bit snappish, and Xander fully expected Spike to get nasty back, but the vampire merely said, “Only makin’ sure my girl’s okay, all right?  No need to get all waspish on me.”  
  
“Whatever.”  Dawn faced off against Spike for a few minutes, then caved.  Her face lifted to his and her belligerent stance softened.  “I get worried too, you know.  Can’t just keep going off and being the hero for everyone.”  
  
“Me?  ‘M no hero.  Jus’ doin’ what I can to keep you an’ your sis. . . all _right_ ,” he paused, getting a look at the expression on her face.   “Buffy safe.  Can’t let anything happen to either of m’girls.”  
  
Dawn sighed, then stepped closer to him, her arms attempting to circle him and the squirming bundle in his arms.  “Still, you’re a hero.  But don’t tell anyone I said that.”  
  
He dropped a kiss on her forehead, hugging her close.  “Not bloody likely.  Jus’ as soon keep that between us.”  
  
“Okay, _Dad_.”  She put a twist on that last word that Xander couldn’t decipher, then kissed his cheek.  She whispered in his ear and Spike threw back his head and laughed.  He sobered quickly as the baby began to whimper louder, shifted his hold on the boy and shoved the bottle of formula into his mouth in a move that Xander goggled at.  
  
“G’on to bed now.  Gonna need you to take the sprog in a couple of hours, so’s I can get some kip, yeah?”    
  
He could see by her facial expression that Dawn wasn’t happy with this request, and Spike must’ve given her some look in return, because she quickly backed down again.  “So not fair that you can get me to do stuff I don’t wanna.”  
  
“Parental privileges, pet.”  He motioned toward her room, saying, “Get now.  Need to get some sleep.”  
  
“Yes, Dad.”  She leaned up to hug him one more time then slipped around him to head toward her room.  “Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.”  
  
“Never, sweets, ‘ll just bite ‘em back.”  Spike quipped as he headed toward the room he shared with Buffy.  
  
Xander stood staring into the hallway, trying to make sense of the scene between Spike and Dawn.  _What’s with the dad thing?  And the hugging?  And the listening to evil dead?  What the hell is going on in this house?  Maybe Giles knows.  Gotta remember to ask him in the morning . . . er, later on._  
  
Quietly, he closed the door behind him, never once realizing Spike didn’t close the door to their room until after he did.


	32. The promise of daylight.

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter 32.  The promise of daylight.  
  
  
Our lives are like the course of the sun.   
At the darkest moment there is the promise of daylight.   
    London Times, Christmas editorial 24 December 84  
  
The gloom of the world is but a shadow.   
Behind it, yet within our reach, is joy.   
There is radiance and glory in the darkness,   
could we but see; and to see, we have only to look.   
  
And so, at this Christmas time, I greet you;   
not quite as the world sends greetings, but with profound esteem,   
and with the prayer that for you, now and forever,   
the day breaks and the shadows flee away.   
    Fra Giovanni, A Letter to Contessina Allagia Dela Aldobrandeschi,   
    Written Christmas Eve 1513**_  
  
  
Maureen Osborne slipped into the dark private ICU room, checking on the comatose patient within.  Wesley stirred when she adjusted the sheet around Cordelia, lifting his head to watch her movements.  The short, slightly round woman whispered her apology for waking hm, which Wesley just waved off.  
  
“That other girl you brought in?  The one that wasn’t as badly injured – she refuses to give her name.  She’s terrified.”  Waiting a moment to see Wesley’s reaction, she continued, “Dr. Thomas has her in isolation in the psych ward. She might not,” she paused, shaking her head, “She’s in very bad shape.”  
  
“Thank – ” Wesley cleared his throat, then finished speaking, “Thank you for telling me.  I’ll try and go see her later, if it can be arranged.”  
  
Maureen Osborne’s “I think that would be possible,” was whispered as softly as she slipped out of the door.  
  
Wesley glanced over at the Buffybot, who smiled brightly, then resumed her sentinel’s stance by the doorway.  Once more saying a silent prayer for Cordelia, Wesley closed his eyes.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Need anything?”  
  
“No, Chief, I’m good.  Brought along some of my own supplies.”  The tall, thin, good-looking, dark-haired man eyed Drusilla, but said nothing more.  
  
“You can take any of the rooms on the second floor.  Take any of the girls, except Dru.”  Angel motioned him into the main living room, snapping orders for the minions to start a fire.  “Surprised you responded.  Where were you?”  
  
“Been in the Sea-Tac area.  It was just a place to call home.  Didn’t take long to get here either.”  He walked around the room, taking note of the furnishings and the assorted weaponry.  “Have to admit Chief, the summons surprised me.  Thought about ignoring it.  But,” he grinned, facing Angel, “it had the ring of an order.  So here I am.”  
  
“Good.  We’ve got things to do.  Though, for now, Lawson, I just need a drink.”  Sinking his fangs into Ray’s captive, Angel fixed his gaze on the last childe he’d turned, while Drusilla hummed and laughed in the background.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike tried kicking off his boots while keeping the bottle in Connor’s mouth, quickly realizing that he needed more than two hands to do that.  Propping the bottle on a pillow, Spike laid Connor down next to Buffy and bent to his boots.  
  
Loud rumblings sounded from the baby’s belly as he drank and Spike had to laugh.  The boy sounded more and more like him every day.  He wouldn’t be surprised if the boy made those noises because both his parents were vampires, though he secretly hoped it was because the baby had a soft spot for his Uncle Spike.    
  
Buffy muttered something in her almost sleep that sounded suspiciously like, “Come to bed.”  
  
Spike shucked off his jeans, then pulled his tee-shirt over his head.  Moving Connor closer to Buffy, Spike slid into the bed, the now wide awake infant between them.  Blue eyes very much like his mother’s twinkled at Spike, smiling at him despite the nipple in his mouth.  Little legs kicking in the air, Connor was playing, no longer in the mood for the bottle.  When Spike exhibited no desire to play right along with him, Connor screwed up his features like there was lemon juice in his bottle rather than milk.  
  
“Oh, no you don’t, little man.  Buffy’s jus’ gone to sleep.  No wakin’ her’p coz you wanna play.  Maybe later, spawn, but not now.”  In an effort to settle him down, Spike hummed a little, then used his thumb to brush over where the infant’s ridge line would be if he was all vampire.  Connor seemed to like that, because his eyes started drifting closed.  _All right then . . . good to know that old trick still works._  
  
His eyes flickered between the other two in the bed with him, a soft smile spreading over his features.  Too tired to form words, Spike heard the words echoing in his head, felt Buffy respond and then allowed his own eyes to drift closed.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Gurgling little noises and the soft rumble of Spike’s purrs broke through the sleepy haze her mind and body had been basking in.  Buffy curled closer to the source of those noises, slowly coming to wakefulness prompted by the sounds.  Little hands brushed over her face, tangling in loose strands of her hair, innocently pulling on the long strands.  Languidly Buffy moved her hand up to disentangle the tiny fingers and slowly cracked open one eye when those tiny hands grabbed her fingers and pulled one of them towards the gaping mouth.  Gnawing on the digit, Connor continued gurgling happily, his little legs pumping and squirming between the two adults.  Spike made some noise, then wrapped a big hand around one of the baby’s legs, unconsciously trying to still his movements.  Letting the baby use her as a chew toy, Buffy closed her eyes again and tried to go back to sleep.    
  
Craving the heat generated by the two bodies in bed with him, Spike shifted closer, his hand leaving the wriggling legs of the baby to grasp the curve of a hip that he knew lay just beyond.  A deep rumbling sigh drifted up from his chest and one leg snaked between hers, anchoring them together.  Content now that he was warmer, Spike settled down to a deeper sleep, having not once opened his eyes.    
  
Dawn hesitated at the door, torn between doing what Spike had asked in the early hours of the morning and not wanting to disturb any of them.  But it was almost noon, and it was more than likely that demon baby would start howling for his bottle.  She couldn’t believe that he hadn’t done so already.  Maybe the double bottle trick was working.  Dawn could hear the sounds of Tara rustling about in the kitchen, searching out the makings of a huge dinner and another part of her was tempted to go downstairs and forget all about Connor.  She sighed, thinking, _yeah, sure and Spike won’t look at me all disappointed like I’m Bara’qua demon slime._ Sighing again, Dawn turned the door’s handle and slipped inside.  
  
The three of them were tucked up underneath the blankets, the baby in the middle while Buffy and Spike flanked him.  They looked so sweet.  Just like a real family.  Dawn felt a pang of something very close to jealousy stab into her.  _Really not fair he gets this.  I’m  way too big to sleep in between them and, eeewww anyway, coz they like do stuff in that bed._   And telling herself all that didn’t really help, because a big part of her wanted to climb into that bed with them and be their little girl.  Silently cursing the monks for getting most of her life wrong, Dawn sighed a little bit, watching Spike’s hand flex over Buffy’s hip.  There was some answering movement and Buffy’s hand came to rest on Spike’s forearm, holding on tightly.  _They really do look like a family._   From nowhere special came little tears, forming silently at the corners of her eyes and Dawn blinked rapidly to dispel them.  She didn’t want to cry over this, it was silly and stupid and so very babyish.  The monks had made her a teenager, not a baby and she had some good memories and _so what if they weren’t really real?  They were still good._    Her memories of Buffy, and growing up in Los Angeles were good memories.  She only wished sometimes that the monks had finished the job, given her real memories of Spike, and what it might have been like to really be theirs.    
 _  
Okay, so back then Spike probably wouldn’t have been all that happy, since Buffy would have been five, bu_ t . . . and Dawn stifled a giggle at that thought.  _He probably still would’ve fallen in love with her, which is beyond ookie_ , though Dawn figured Spike would understand what she meant, if she ever got the courage to talk to him about some of the things she was thinking.  She wondered sometimes, too, if Spike would have fallen in love with Buffy anyway, even without the interference of the monks.  And then she remembered Willow’s back-fired will-be-done spell and wondered how much of a mistake that had really been.  Maybe the monks had shifted something then, playing with all of them, making it so that Buffy and Spike fell in love . . . Dawn eyed the sleeping couple on the bed, mental calculations forming.  Spike got chipped in the early fall, just after UC Sunnydale classes had started, and Willow’s spell happened just after Thanksgiving.  Giles had nearly pinpointed the moment their memories had been altered, and it was about nine months later, give or take a couple of days.   _No way.  Could it have taken the monks all that time?  Like a real baby?_  
  
A tentative smiled bloomed on her face, and had either of the two sleeping adults seen it, they would have been very happy.  Each of them had been worried about their girl, ever since the truth behind her parentage had been revealed, though neither one was sure how to get her to open up.  Dawn admitted to herself that she’d been a little difficult lately, and winced as she remembered the shouting match she’d had with Buffy not long after Connor had arrived.  Stepping closer to the bed, Dawn reached out to smooth the blanket over Spike’s foot.  Buffy stirred again, a soft groan of discomfort emerging from her and her movements picked up.  Reaching over to lift Connor from the bed, Dawn was surprised when a warm hand stopped her.    
  
“What are you doing?”  Buffy’s voice was barely more than a whisper.  
  
“Spike asked me to take him so you guys could get enough sleep.”  Dawn’s answer was equally soft.  
  
Letting her hand go, Buffy groaned again, her hand dropping down to cover her belly.  “I’m sort of awake anyway.  Might as . . .”   Hazel eyes snapped open and Buffy got a funny look on her face, as the words died in her throat.  “Ugh.  Hang on.”  
  
Dawn watched, her mouth hanging open as Buffy scrambled from the bed and headed straight for the bathroom, a tight look on her face.  Furrowing her brows, Dawn lifted Connor up and followed her into the bathroom.    
  
“What the hell is wrong with you?”   She asked, when she found Buffy with her head hanging over the toilet, puking up her guts.    
  
“Some bug I got.”  Buffy grumped back at her, determined this time not to cry.  It was one thing in front of Spike, but she wasn’t going to do that with Dawn hovering over her.  
  
“Bug?”  Dawn stared down at the top of Buffy’s head and nearly laughed.  “A bug?  What kind of a _bug_?”  She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice.  
  
“Dunno.  Stop asking me.”  Buffy leaned up and flushed the toilet, then got to her feet and using her finger, scrubbed away the icky taste from her mouth.  _God, I wanna puke again._ She lifted her head, meeting her sister’s. . . no, her _daughter’s_ eyes in the mirror.  There was amused disbelief in Dawn’s clear blue gaze, so very much like her father’s that Buffy wanted to scream in that moment, but she didn’t.  Instead she stared Dawn down, a set look on her features.   
  
“Buffy. . .”  Dawn started to speak, but Buffy held up her hand, silently asking her to wait.  
  
“Look.  Don’t say it, okay?  Just don’t.  I . . .” Glancing at the closed bathroom door, Buffy turned once more to face the younger Summers female.  “Just don’t say anything, to anyone.  Do you understand?  To **_no_** one.”  
  
“Buffy?”  She was shaking her head in denial.  
  
“Promise me, Dawnie.  You won’t say anything.  Not until after Christmas, okay?”  Buffy turned around to face her, leaning on the vanity, her back to the mirror now.  
  
They shared a long look, neither one of them backing down and obvious questions all over Dawn’s features, but Buffy wasn’t going to let her go without a promise.  “Dawn.  I want that promise.”  
  
“Not until Christmas, right?”  Dawn thrust out her hip, letting the baby rest there, all the while searching Buffy’s features for a hint of relenting.  
  
“Yeah, not until then.”    
  
A deep sigh exploded from Dawn’s chest and she nodded her head.  “I promise.  Not until Christmas.  But it’s cool, coz that’s only two days.  I can keep a secret for two days.”  She waited a couple of moments, then prodded Buffy in the shoulder.  “But that’s all you get.  Two days.  After that I’m so spilling these beans.”  
  
“I know.  But that’s okay.  You can spill all you like after Christmas.”  Buffy’s lips quirked in a small smile and Dawn fought the squeal that was building in her throat.    
  
“Um.  Speaking of Christmas, we need a tree and all that other good stuff you know.  All the decorations and stuff.”  Dawn pushed open the bathroom door, leading to the hallway, aware that Buffy wasn’t following her.  “You want me to get Giles and Xander to go get a tree?”  
  
“Yeah.  You do that.  I’m going back to bed.”  
  
Buffy watched as Dawn almost skipped down the hallway, mindlessly chirping about Christmas and decorations and presents and all sorts of good things, her mind on the vampire sleeping quietly behind her.  _I hope he didn’t hear any of that.  I’ll beat her senseless if he did._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
No one was at Giles’ when she got to the door, which was why she’d planned this little visit at this time.  Giles was probably at the Magic Box and she had no idea what Wesley was doing or why he was still hanging around, but he was.  Fishing the spare key out of her pocket, Willow calmly opened the front door.  Heading right for the bookshelf, Willow quickly scanned the backs.  She was looking for a specific book and she was pretty sure it wasn’t at the Magic Box.  While a lot of his books were there, she had a feeling that this one wasn’t.  Quickly searching through all the books on his shelves, Willow found the one she wanted.  
  
 _All righty.  Gotcha.  This is perfect.  Should work really well, after all, I’m much stronger than Jonathan.  My magics won’t be unstable._   Replacing all the books, Willow grabbed the one she’d come for and with a last glimpse around, she left the apartment.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Dawn carried Connor into the kitchen, her good mood extending to the infant who was watching her closely.  Tara watched from her position by the sink a smile on her features.  
  
“So, you’re in a good mood.”  
  
“Yup.  Christmas is nearly here, everyone’s safe and, you know, things are good.”  Dawn shrugged a bit, not wanting to focus on anything bad.  
  
“You don’t miss your mom?”    
  
“My mom?”  Dawn looked at her quizzically, then realized Tara meant Joyce.  “Oh, yeah.  Sort of.  I do miss Joyce.  I wish I’d had more real time with her, you know?  But honestly, having Buffy back and Spike here is . . . it’s like having real parents.”  Dawn realized she was treading a fine line, almost telling Tara the truth, though if anyone could keep a secret it was Tara.  
  
“So you think of them, sort of, as parents?”  Tara reached for the baby, settling him in the bouncy chair.  
  
Making a decision, Dawn took a deep breath, then spoke.  “Well, that’s coz they really are.  The journals Wesley brought, it was all in there, how long the monks had been trying to make the key human.  They were following the slayers for a long time and because of that they stumbled on a dark warrior, a vampire who kept defeating chosen ones.”  
  
Tara looked up sharply at that, comprehension dawning on her face.  “Spike?”  
  
“Yup.  He’s fought something like seven Slayers.  And one of them died of injuries. . .   Anyway, so they were tracking Spike and the Slayers.  I wasn’t sure it was Spike until I read the entries from the seventies and that was when he started bleaching his hair.”  A soft giggle escaped from Dawn and Tara smiled in response.  
  
“We still aren’t sure if the monks manipulated things so that Spike got caught by the Initiative, but we do know that they were the ones that put the Gem of Amarra in Sunnydale.”  Dawn paused, waiting for Tara’s reaction.    
  
“The Initiative took DNA samples from both of them, didn’t they?”  At Dawn’s nod, Tara dropped the spoon she was using into the sink and took a look at Connor.  “So they used Spike’s and Buffy’s DNA to create you.”  
  
“Yeah.”  Dawn reached into the refrigerator for a drink.  
  
“How do you feel about that?”  Tara motioned for the formula, and busied herself with mixing something up in a bowl for Connor.  
  
“What’re you doing?  What’s that?”  Then quickly back on the subject, said, “It beats having to think about Buffy and someone else – or Spike and someone else.”  
  
Tara looked at her curiously and Dawn elaborated.  “Like Buffy and Giles or Spike and Joyce or Buffy and Angel. . .”  
  
The look on Tara’s face when she’d said “Buffy and Giles” was enough for Dawn to collapse into giggles.  “See, that’s what I mean.”  
  
“Oh, Dawnie, that’s just horrible!”  
  
“What’s horrible?”  Giles’ voice sounded from the kitchen doorway and was perplexed when his question was met with yet more giggles.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Xander had dropped Anya at the Magic Box before heading to Sunnydale General to relieve Wesley.  There hadn’t been an opportunity to ask Giles about what he’d seen in the hallway early this morning, and now that he had more time to think about it, he didn’t want to know the truth behind it.  Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good, because Dawn had been treating Spike like she cared about the bloodsucker.  Which was something Xander didn’t want to know about.  
  
Parking his car as close to the entrance as he could, Xander slid through the emergency room doors when no one was looking and headed toward Cordelia’s room.  He met no resistance at the door, despite the police presence, which bothered him somewhat, until he opened the door and was knocked back on his ass, landing across the hallway.  
  
“Ooops.  Sorry, Xander.”  The bot leaned over him, guiltless concern flashing in her eyes.  
  
He got to his feet, shaking his head.  Pushing open the door, he realized why the bot was in hit-first mode.  Wesley was sound asleep, his head resting on the gurney, next to Cordelia’s hand.  
  
Xander approached quietly, debating about waking the sleeping Englishman.  Wesley’s uncomfortable position decided him.  “Wesley.”  He shook his shoulder and wasn’t surprised when Wesley sat up quickly.  
  
“Xander.  What time is it?”  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Wesley looked around for his glasses.  
  
“About quarter after twelve.”  Looking toward Cordelia, Xander asked, “How is she?”  
  
“They put her in a coma, hoping that would help her heal.  Otherwise, they still aren’t sure she’s going to make it.”  No need to lie or pretend that Cordelia’s situation wasn’t dire.    
  
“Oh, man.  How’s the other girl?”  Xander pushed Cordelia’s hair away from her face, wincing when nothing happened.  
  
“She’s better, physically, but mentally she’s . . . they put her in the psychiatric ward.”  
  
Which really, when he thought about it, made perfect sense.  Wesley was certain that Cordelia would be in pretty much the same condition if her injuries weren’t so bad.  
  
“Right.  I’ll be back later.”  
  
Leaving the Buffybot behind, Wesley took the keys Xander offered him and headed for the door.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike had vaguely heard his girl’s voices, but ignored them.  He felt when Buffy climbed back into the bed, and his arms circled around her, pulling her close against him.  One hand forced itself under her head, the other grasping her hip, then slid down to press against her belly.  He murmured something completely unintelligible, kissing the back of her neck.  
  
Buffy closed her eyes, snuggling tighter in his arms.  _Gonna have to tell him soon.  Christmas morning.  That’s when I’ll do it._ Images of how she was going to tell him weaving in and around her thoughts, Buffy fell asleep.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Dawn was trying to convince Giles to take her and get a Christmas tree, which he was trying to resist by telling her his car wasn’t the right one to be using when Wesley walked in the door.  
  
He greeted them all, asking Tara, “How is Oz feeling?”  
  
“Much better, he was looking for something to eat.”  She indicated the melting ice cream on the counter.  
  
“Wesley, please tell Giles we need a Christmas tree.”  Dawn looking up at him, her big eyes pleading.  
  
“Right.”  She hadn’t turned that look on him in weeks, though Wesley was still powerless against it.  “Well, I’m back with Xander’s car.  But the Jeep is here.  That would be best to transport the tree.”  
  
Giles gave Wesley an unhappy look that clearly indicated he didn’t want to go and he was more than a little aggravated with Wesley for pointing out that the Jeep was available.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Lawson looked around the mansion, taking his time picking out a room.  Most of the minions were already asleep, resting warily in light of Angel’s extreme displeasure.  His progress through the rooms was hindered by Drusilla’s humming presence trailing behind him, though Lawson didn’t dare wave her off.  
  
It was obvious she wasn’t going to leave him alone until he’d chosen a place to sleep and he was equally certain that she wasn’t to do so on Angel’s orders.  He was just about to exit the room he was thinking of taking when her voice stopped his forward movement.  
  
“Who are you, sailor boy?  Daddy made you, to be certain sure. . . though Miss Edith doesn’t know when . . . and she’s ever so curious.”  
  
“It was the fall of 1943, in a submarine in the North Atlantic.”  He paused, looking at the female vampire.  “Does that help Miss Edith?”  
  
“Mmmmmmm,” she swayed a bit, listening to the voices in her head.  “It does, but Miss Edith needs to see you, come along now.”  
  
Grabbing his arm with surprising strength, Drusilla pulled him into her room.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
They both woke up at the same time to the sounds of doors opening and closing, then feet pounding on the stairs.  Buffy rolled over to face her mate, her eyes barely opened and she nestled closer into his arms.  Her voice was sleep husky and Spike smiled slightly at her words. “I thought we got rid of all these people who shouldn’t be living here.”  
  
He chuckled, his hand gently slapping her rump. “Bad pennies, love, they keep comin’ back.”  
  
“Maybe if you were grumpier they’d all leave?”  Buffy sounded hopeful.  
  
“Any grumpier an’ I’d be just like the Watcher.”  Spike rolled over onto his back pulling her along with him.   She thumped him gently on the chest, then started to teasingly give him a hard time, when the noises from the hallway got louder.  
  
Dawn’s voice came closer to their room and then her knock sounded on the door.  “C’mon, you two, get your lazy butts outta bed.  We got a tree.”  
  
Spike looked at Buffy.  “A tree?”  
  
“Christmas tree.  Dawnie wanted a real one and since our old fake one is nasty, I said it was okay.”  
  
“Guys?  You are like the biggest slugs.”  Dawn stuck her head in the door.  “Geez.  Get outta bed already.”  
  
Spike rolled over again, grousing good-naturedly.  “All right bit, we’re working on it.”  
  
“Good, coz everyone’s here and Oz is up.”  Dawn’s enthusiasm was infectious and Buffy found herself responding.  
  
“I’m up.  We’ll be down in a minute.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Angel growled in his sleep, reaching for Drusilla.  It had taken him hours and two bottles of whiskey to calm down his anger and his sleep was restless as a consequence of his temper.  
  
Drusilla was sleeping beside him and in response to his unrest she rolled over and wrapped her bare arms around him.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The tree was decorated.  All the lights and decorations were hanging from the boughs.  Buffy watched Dawn and Tara moving around the tree, trying to make it perfect.  She didn’t have the heart to tell them that it couldn’t be perfect, but looking at their faces she got the feeling they already knew that.  
  
Connor was rolling around the floor, crawling between various feet and generally being a complete distraction.  Strangely enogh no one seemed to mind.  Every few moments someone would pick him up, show him the Christmas lights and then, when he squirmed too much, put him back down on the floor.  Right now, Spike had him, and he was tickling the baby’s sides as he dangled him in the air.  
  
She glanced at Dawn who had stopped whatever she was doing to watch them, a knowing smirk on her face.  Buffy sighed.  
  
 _Two days.  I’ve got two days to figure out how to tell him.  How am I gonna do this?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from a quote from the London Times Christmas editorial, 24 December 1984


	33. Unending lightning

_**Book Two.  
  
Chapter 33.  Unending lightning.  
  
  
the moment of a miracle is unending lightning ...   
    Dylan Thomas,  On the Marriage of a Virgin.  
  
I think miracles exist in part as gifts and in part as clues   
that there is something beyond the flat world we see.   
                       Peggy Noonan**_  
                              
  
  
  
Just hours after dark, the same day Lawson had shown up, Angel heard from Jenner, another one of Darla’s; and strangely enough, Rebecca and Toussaint.  The last two he’d long since forgotten about, but apparently they, like Lawson, felt the call to be something of an order.  Jenner was closest, already in New York and he’d be arriving in Los Angeles  sometime during the night.  Toussaint and Rebecca were coming in from Miami, though they wouldn’t be arriving until later.  
  
But they were coming.  Feeling a bit better now that numbers were on his side, Angel relaxed and allowed the remaining minions free rein to hunt.  The holidays were always a good time to find careless humans to feed on.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Wesley was becoming a permanent fixture in Cordelia’s ICU ward, so much so that her doctors jokingly referred to him as “the husband”.  He was sitting with her again on Christmas Eve, so that Xander and Anya could have some time to themselves.  Also so that none of the others had to spend time away, especially Spike.  
  
Buffy’s mysterious illness hadn’t eased at all, in fact, looked to be getting worse.  She was having trouble eating anything and the constant vomiting wasn’t helping.  Poor girl looked terrible and he thought perhaps she was starting to loose weight.  Weight she could ill afford to loose.   
  
Wesley shook his thoughts free of Buffy when Cordelia shifted restlessly.  Although the doctors were slowly weaning her off the drugs that were keeping her comatose, Cordelia’s responses were still non-existent to outside stimuli.  Wesley was beginning to fear that Cordelia might not ever recover.  When he’d expressed those fears to Giles, the elder man had just peered over his glasses and simply said, “Perhaps she might be . . . well, she would be at peace then.”  
  
From that moment on, Wesley wasn’t sure what outcome would be preferable.  An alive yet broken Cordelia or a dead and at peace one.  _Good god, what a thing to contemplate.  
_  
When his concerns had leached into his conversation with Gunn, there had been no hesitation in the other’s voice.  He simply asked “Are you with his ex?”  
  
Once Wesley had answered in the affirmative, Gunn’s response had been “We’ll be there day after Christmas.”  
  
And that had been the end of that.  Conversation over.  Wesley couldn’t dissuade them from coming, so sometime tomorrow, Gunn and Fred would be arriving in Sunnydale.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
For nearly two days she’d wracked her brains, trying to come up with some way of telling Spike why she’d been throwing up.  His worry over her had grown the longer she kept vomiting and she’d started hiding from him, avoiding him as much as she could which was next to impossible because they shared a bed.  Buffy knew it was silly, but she had to keep biting her tongue.  Buffy wanted him to know, she needed very much to tell him, though she was also determined to wait until Christmas.  
  
Coming up with various ways to spring her Christmas present on him and discarding every single one, Buffy was now at a complete loss.  They were out patrolling and really there was no reason except that Angelus and Drusilla were out there. It was after midnight, she could just blurt it out.  _And how lame is that?_    Buffy looked over at Spike, who was just as lost in thought as she was.  The duster swirled around his feet as they walked through the silent cemetery.  Slipping her arm through his, Buffy smiled up at him.  
  
He cocked his head to the side, gazing down at her.  “You all right, pet?”  
  
“Yup.”  She smiled as an idea came to her suddenly.  “It’s after midnight.  Wanna head home and celebrate Christmas?”  
  
Spike pretended to consider this.  “Dunno, sunshine.   Shouldn’t we be out here protecting everyone from the sinister creatures of the night?”  
  
Buffy pouted just a little.  “I think we can call it a night.”  
  
He swung her around in his arms, so that they were facing each other.  His arms circled round her waist and he stared down at her in the cool night air.  The moon illuminated her face making her look ethereal in his eyes.  His gaze roved over her features, drinking in her countenance.  One of his thumbs brushed across her soft cheek.  The look in his eyes changed the longer he looked at her.  
  
Buffy started to speak, though his thumb brushing over her lips held her silent.  His voice, when he spoke was soft and low, his words warming her through.  “And in life's noisiest hour, there whispers still the ceaseless love of thee, the heart's self-solace and soliloquy. You mould my hopes, you fashion me within, and to the leading love-throb in the heart thro' all my being, thro' my pulse's beat,” he paused, whispering softly, “though it beats not.” He paused once more, searching for the rest of the words, “you lie in all my many thoughts, like light, like the fair light of dawn, or summer eve on rippling stream, or cloud-reflecting lake, and looking to the Heaven, that bends above you, how oft I bless the lot that made me love you.”  
  
When he was finished, Buffy had tears in her eyes, though still he wouldn’t let her speak.  Tugging her close, Spike whispered into her ear, “Let’s go home, love.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _I should have decided on this sooner.  This is perfect.  And it won’t take long.  And I can so do this without even blinking.  If **Jonathan** could do this – Hah! _Willow paced around the confines of her bedroom, the grimoire that she’d taken from Giles’ in her hands.  
  
 _Okie dokie.  So now I need to concentrate and alter this just a bit.  Change that wording . . ._ leaning over her desk, Willow crossed out a few lines of the incantation, replacing them with others that better fit her intentions.  _Not wanting to be the center of everything – not like Jonathan.  Just want everything the way it should be._ She didn’t care about being in the limelight, if anything, she didn’t want that at all, so that called for the changes.  
  
Her excitement bubbled over, causing her to almost bounce with every step.  _Okay, Willow, this isn’t good and you can’t afford to make mistakes.  So calm down._ Folding her legs beneath her, Willow sunk down on the floor, forcing her mind to blankness.  Focusing on a soothing calming mantra, Willow prepared herself for the ritual.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Anya watched Xander get ready for bed, a yawn stretching her features wide.  “I really don’t understand why you are still insisting on going to the hospital tomorrow.  It’s not like Cordelia knows you’re there.”  
  
“That’s not the point, Ahn.  Someone needs to sit with her, talk to her and protect her in case Angel and his fangy bunch decide to visit.”  Xander looked at her over his shoulder, frustration on his features.  _Do we have to argue now?  
_  
She made a snorting noise somewhere in the back of her throat that totally skeeved him.  “Please, Xander.    You can’t possibly believe that.  You wouldn’t stand a chance against Angel and you know it.  If you got hurt then we’d have to worry about you and then there would be no snuggling or orgasms for a very long time.”  Anya paused, then said, “Besides, that’s why the bot is there.”  
  
“Way to make me feel useless.”  Shaking his head, Xander got up to leave the room.  “I’m gonna watch some tv.”    
  
Shocked almost speechless, Anya made some protesting noises, but Xander just waved her off and headed for the living room.  Slumping back down on the bed, Anya muttered to herself, “Can’t speak the truth anymore.  He never wants to hear it any way.”  
  
Grumbling some more, Anya rolled over onto her side facing the wall.  “Stupid man.”  Thinking to herself, she fought the tears that were threatening.  Instead, Anya concentrated on all the things she and the other girls had to do in the morning.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Tara and Oz were both still up when they got home putting the final touches on the Christmas tree and piling presents underneath.  
  
Buffy stopped short, her mouth agape as she looked at everything.  “Wow.”  
  
The lights were all out, except for the tree and Tara was sitting on the floor, giving Connor a bottle while Oz rested on the couch.  
  
“Look at you, all earth mothery.”  
  
Tara blushed, ducking her head, when Spike added, “Pretty as a picture.”  
  
“He just woke up crying, figured might as well feed him.”  Connor tugged on the strands of her hair, begging for attention.  “Hey, little man, don’t pull so hard.”  
  
“Oh yeah, that’s such a bad habit.”  Buffy commiserated with her as she came further into the living room.  “Where’s Dawnie?”  
  
“She went upstairs a little while ago.  Said she was tired.”  Tara hid a yawn, though Buffy saw it.  
  
“So not the only one there.”  Glancing at the clock, which read one fifteen, Buffy said, “Maybe it’s time all of us started dreaming of sugar plums.”  
  
Spike locked the front door, motioning to all of them, “Go on, I’ll wait up for St. Nick.”  
  
Oz signaled his agreement, slowly getting to his feet, nursing his injuries.  Waving his goodnights, he headed for the basement and Tara’s room.  
  
“You sure?”  Tara’s voice broke the hushed silence and Spike shook his head.  “G’on Glinda, ‘ve got some things I need to see to.”  
  
Handing Connor to Buffy, Tara got to her feet, wished them both a Merry Christmas and followed Oz.  
  
Spike watched Buffy for long moments, not saying a word.  She yawned and he knelt down in front of her, one hand resting on her shoulder.  “Go on up, kitten.  Take the sprog with you.  I’ll be up shortly.”  
  
Leaning into his touch, Buffy murmured a question against his neck and Spike just kissed her forehead in answer.  “I’m sure, kitten.  Go, be up in a few ticks.”  
  
Getting gracefully to his feet, Spike took the baby and helped her up.  Pulling her toward the stairs, Spike whispered, “Be up before you know it, love.”  
  
“Okay.”  Without much more prodding Buffy lifted the almost sleeping infant to her shoulder and ascended the stairs.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike waited a few minutes, his ears pricked to listen for anyone sneaking around, then, when he heard nothing out of the ordinary, he headed for the back door.  He’d bought presents for his girls, Glinda, and even broken down and purchased something for his two fellow Brits.  The trick had been hiding it all from Buffy’s over-inquisitive nature.  
  
His girl was a snoop.  And Dawn was just as bad.  
  
At first he’d hidden everything in the DeSoto’s trunk, although when he caught her sneaking out with his keys, he knew that wasn’t safe enough.  He’d stashed most of it at Rupert’s putting the bigger items in the shed.  Giles would bring over the rest in the morning, so all he needed to do was get the stuff out of the shed.  
  
It didn’t take him long to move the gifts.  Most of what he’d gotten was small and still at the Watcher’s.  Tossing the gifts on top of the fairly decent-sized pile and placing one out of sight behind the couch, Spike made one more circuit of the house, securing all the doors and windows, finally making his way up the stairs.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy hadn’t wasted any time once she was in the bedroom.  Laying Connor down in his crib, Buffy brushed a kiss on the back of his head and quickly stripped off her clothes.  She thought about putting on one of her old nightgowns and discarded that idea.  Slipping into the barely-there all lace nightie that she knew Spike loved, Buffy sat down on the bed, pen and paper in hand.  
  
Quickly she wrote down some things, then stopped. _Is this the best way to do it?_    Thinking hard, she crossed out what she had just written, then realized she needed a new piece of paper.  Taking a new one, Buffy thought for a moment, then wrote down something furiously, not crossing out anything.  She hesitated when she got to the end, took a deep breath and finished what she was writing.  Buffy hoped this would be enough.  Not because she didn’t want him to know, she did.  _Oh god, I wanna just tell him._ She just didn’t know how else to tell him.  Looking down at the paper, she wrote one more thing down and figured that would be enough.  It had to be.  She couldn’t think of any other clever way to tell him.  
  
Sighing once, Buffy realized she was being cowardly about this.  She just really didn’t know how else to tell him.  Praying that it would be enough, Buffy switched off the main light and climbed back into the bed.  The bedside light was still on and she put the piece of paper on his pillow.  Laying down with her back to the door, she whispered a tiny wish that he wouldn’t be upset with her when he read it.  
  
Thankfully she didn’t have all that long to wait, because she hadn’t been laying down long enough to fall asleep when he came into the room humming softly.  She tried not to tense up, knowing he would pick up on it, instead she let her hand drift down to cover her belly, waiting.  
  
By the rustling movements behind her and the dip on the bed, she could guess what he was doing.  Boots first.  The sound of metallic snaps was followed by the thumps signaling their removal.  Then the almost silent sound of his shirt being removed and the dull thump of it hitting the wall by the bathroom.  His weight disappeared from the bed and she could hear the snap and snick of leather and steel as he undid his belt.  His jeans were off and the bed dipped once more under his weight.  
  
Spike laid down on the bed, his head disturbing the paper she’d left for him.  He grumbled something low that she strained to catch but couldn’t because she was very intent on breathing steadily.  “What the bleedin’ hell. . .”  
  
His voice trailed off into silence and he didn’t even breathe.  He was silent for so long, it seemed endless though really wasn’t nearly that long because she only inhaled twice.  Spike moved closer to her, his hand on her hip, his fingers curling around the smooth muscles there.  He spoke her name into her ear and she felt him move again.  His left hand flexed on her hip, then moved to cover hers, which was still covering her belly.  
  
Linking his fingers with hers, Spike gently forced her onto her back.  “Look at me, sweetheart.”  
  
Slowly, Buffy rolled back, opening her eyes as she did.  He was propped up on his elbow, leaning over her, staring down into her eyes.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She was in bed when he got up the stairs, the bedside lamp throwing shadows over her  still form.  Without realizing it, he knew she was still awake, but he decided against ragging her about it.  Buffy still wasn’t feeling well, and he’d been cutting her slack for the last couple of days because of it, though if she didn’t get over it soon, he was going to push the issue and make her go to the doctor.  
  
Sitting down on the bed, he unsnapped and unlaced his boots, then drew his shirt off and tossed it at the bathroom door.  The boots were under the table and Spike stood to shuck off his jeans, stepping out of them and leaving them on the floor.  He laid down on the bed, and instead of soft cottony pillow beneath his cheek there was crackly paper.   
  
“What the bleedin’ hell . . .”   
  
He stopped speaking when he saw what it was in his hand.  It was a list, in Buffy’s handwriting, of all those potentials that Rupert mentioned when he’d gotten back from his last trip to London.  Names of the girls and dates.  Approximate date of death and then the dates of their first born.  Spike’s eyes slid to the bottom of the page.  
  
There were new names on the list.    
  
Darla Witherspoon.  The date of her first turning, then dusting, her return from wherever she’d been, and then the date of Connor’s birth.  
  
And then, at the very bottom was a new set of names.  
  
Buffy Anne Summers, died May 2001, resurrected August 2001.    
  
Then next to that two more words: son/daughter followed by a question mark.  
  
And finally, a few more words.  Fathered by William the Bloody, also known as Spike.  
  
He stared down at the paper in his hands, unable to think, unable to breathe.  He watched as the paper drifted to the floor, his mind whirling with thousands of different thoughts.  He rolled over, propping his head on his right hand, placing his left hand on the curve of her hip.   His fingers flexed gently, tightening his grip on her at the same instant her name breathed from his lips into her ear.  
  
Her hand was cupped around her still flat belly and he slid his bigger hand over hers, meshing their fingers together.  Spike tugged her closer, pushing her gently onto her back, as he whispered, “Look at me, sweetheart.”    
  
A soft, tentative smile broke out on her face, though it didn’t reach her eyes.  They were filled with tearful uncertainty, questions teeming in the depths of her night-darkened eyes.  Spike squeezed the fingers that were still laying on her belly and he gazed steadily down at her.  He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped.  His eyes roamed over her face, and he watched, fascinated, when a single tear pooled in the grassy-green depths.    
  
“Buffy. . .”  His voice rolled through her, the deep husky tones sending shivers down her spine and settling in her belly.  Her eyes started to drift closed, just drinking in the intoxicating rhythm of her name.   
  
“Buffy?”    
  
A thousand questions in that one word, a hundred million or more, and yet they all centered on the same thing.  He needed an answer, needed to know and so, too, did she.  
  
The smile that lit her face drew fire from his touch, from the look in his eyes.  It was fierce and primal and went beyond anything they had ever touched upon before.  She was mesmerized by that fire and she willingly surrendered to it.  
  
“Yeah?”  Her arm hooked under the one his head was leaning on and she slid closer to him, their faces bare inches apart.  The world shrunk to just them, to the space between and she eyed him coyly.  
  
“When?”  He leaned further over her, his body shielding them both from the outside, craving the heat and shelter he found only within her.  His warmth was stoked higher by her response and Spike itched to kiss her, but he needed to know . . . _everything_.  
  
“August.”  She averted her eyes, shying from the profound emotions swirling in his cerulean eyes.  His eyes had always had an intoxicating power over her, from the very first.  His eyes told secrets, held promises that she hadn’t always been willing to understand. . . and now, his eyes held her world.  
  
Another softly worded question caught her attention.  “You sure?”  
  
This time her eyes held the hint of a smile.  “Very sure.”  She paused, the fingers on both hands brushing over his skin.  “I got a test and went to the. . . Dr. Thomas confirmed it.”  
  
He hesitated, absorbing the enormous news she’d just imparted to him.  Spike was in shock, he supposed, he couldn’t complete a thought, couldn’t actually formulate words.  “Buffy . . .”  
  
“Are you okay?”  The question was absurd, coming from her and he chuckled slightly.  
  
“Yeah.  ‘M bloody fine.  Question is, how’re you?”  He dropped further down on the bed and she automatically fitted her body to his.  
  
“I’m okay.”  Her arm was trapped between his arm and his head and Buffy brought her hand up to play with the curls just behind his ear.  His fingers disengaged from the hand on her belly to rub little circles over her lace covered skin.  His touch was electrifying, sending sparks through her muscles.  
  
“Spike . . .are you okay with this?”  Buffy’s eyes searched his, trying to find – trying to gauge his emotions.  His thumb brushed over her lower lip, halting her words.  
  
“Kitten . . .”   His hand brushed down the length of her torso, once more resting over her belly.  His fingers nudged her hand away, then splayed over her, covering her from hip to hip.  “Here, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  She had no idea what he was doing or thinking.  He stared at the spot, his eyes hidden from hers.  Tentatively she laid her hand over his.  She opened her mouth to speak, to ask him once more if he was all right, when his voice broke the still night.  
  
“Buffy . . .  This. . .”   His voice broke and she realized he was fighting tears.  “Never thought, not in a hundred years, there’d be more ‘en jus’ the life Dru gave me.  Never. . . stopped hopin’ after a bit, jus’ gave up.  And _then_ ,” he paused again trying to gain more control. “Then there was you.  Threw me for a loop you did.  Turned me upside down.  Made me want things again.  Gave me m’dreams back.  I love you, Buffy.  With all that I am.  Man.  Monster.  Every last part of me.”  
  
He moved then, lifting his eyes to hers.  Tears filled those ocean blue depths, though before she could speak, his voice raw with emotions she’d never heard, he started speaking.  “Now. . . now you’ve given me the world.  You. . .  This is my baby in your belly. . . mine.”  
  
His voice broke and a tear dropped down upon her breast.  “‘Ve got the family William always wanted.  My woman. . .  My children.”  
  
He shook his head.  “I love you.”  Another tear fell and Spike leaned closer to her, his lips brushing hers.  Buffy smiled, arching into his touch.  
  
“Spike.  I love you too.”  She kissed him back.  “So you are happy about this.”  
  
A chuckle broke through his lips.  “Yeah, sunshine, ’m happy.  Question is, are you?”  
  
This time a blinding smile crossed her features, reaching her eyes.  “Ah huh.  Color me happy Buffy.”  
  
His arms lifted her up as he rolled onto his back.  Settling her over his body, Spike grinned.  “Happy Christmas, love.”  
  
Buffy fitted her legs on either side of his hips.  “Same to you.”  
  
Spike pulled her head down, kissing her hungrily.  “Kitten . . . this is okay, right?”  
      
“Yeah.  Oh yeah . . .”   Her hands tightened around his biceps, holding on tightly as he nudged his erection against her.  Buffy settled on him, inching back so that his cock was nestled up against her butt.  “Spike. . . I need you.”  
  
“Need you too, sunshine.  So bloody much.”  His hands gripped her hips, lifting her slightly.  Buffy let go of his left arm, her hand circling his erection, positioning him at her entrance.  Leaving her hand there, Buffy felt it as her pussy engulfed him, liquid fire spreading through her body.  She writhed a bit, adjusting to his size and he groaned, bucking his hips up.  “Fuckin’ hell. . . so tight.”  
  
He thrust hard again as she ground down on his cock, sinking down so their groins were touching.  “Spike. . . need more. . .”  
  
He twitched his hips and she was rolling, her back landing on the mattress and he thrust hard in the same motion, driving her up against the headboard.  Spike’s arms landed on either side of her head, his weight resting on his palms.  His eyes held a hint of mischief and he quipped, “Hello, cutie.”    
  
Buffy slid her legs up, her knees just under his arms, changing the angle of his entry, so that he was scraping against that soft spot within her on every thrust.   Her breath came in short gasps, his name slipping from her.  Spike drove into her, grunting against her neck.  Buffy had to put her arms over her head, bracing herself against the headboard, matching his rhythms.  
    
“Oh god. . . . oh. . .  Spike!”  Buffy shrieked out his name as her first orgasm ripped through her.  Spike shifted, bringing one of Buffy’s legs up over his arm without breaking his rhythm.  His mouth sucked on the pulse points of her jugular, cool against the heat of her but instead of soothing her, it just set off more tremors.    
  
Spike felt her nails dig into his back and sides, raising blood to the surface of his skin, and he vamped, letting his fangs score the mating marks, while she gripped him tighter.  He was gasping for air that he didn’t need, his chest heaving with the effort.  “Love you. . . oh god woman, I do. . . f’rever.”    
  
He rolled his hips, pistoning into her hard, his pubic bone hitting her clit and he could feel his balls tightening, drawing up.  He was impossibly hard, and the cords in his neck stood out as he refrained from biting into her.  Spike lifted his head away from her neck and growled out his frustration.  Her name was a prayer on his lips as he fought his own nature.  
  
A warm hand cupped his cheek, then pulled him back down to her, guiding him to her veins.  “It’s okay, please . . . I need you too.”  She whispered against his mouth before she rubbed her tongue over his fangs.  
  
“Buffy. . .” He almost whined her name into her mouth, struggling not to slice open her tongue.  “Shouldn’t. . . not now.”  
  
“Yes, now.  _Especially_ now.”  Buffy cupped her hands around his face, holding him still between her legs.  “Spike . . . we need this connection.  I need it.  I want you to feel what I’m feeling.  Right now.”    
  
He dropped his head, letting her lips brush across his brow ridges, his breath gusting heavily across the tops of her breasts.  He was quiet, his hips moving slowly, languidly thrusting into her as she tightened all her muscles around him.  He growled low in his chest, the words harsh and guttural, swimming with emotion.  “Are you sure, sunshine?”  
  
“Oh god, Spike, I’ve never been more sure. . .   _Please_.”  Buffy stared into his amber eyes, willing him to make that final move.  “Please. . . Spike. . .”    
  
He slid out of game face, his blue eyes staring hard into hers.  “I love you, kitten, don’t wanna hurt you.”    
  
“You won’t.  Not now, not ever.”  Buffy leaned up, her tongue dancing across his lips.    
  
Searching her eyes one last time, Spike deepened the kiss, his tongue mating with hers.  Buffy arched up into him, her arms and legs holding onto him.  She broke away from his kiss watching as he morphed back into game face.  His teeth nipped at her lip, far too gently to break the skin and then he nestled his face into her neck.  Once more scraping his fangs against her skin, Spike growled softly, then as he surged into her, he broke the skin over her veins.  
  
Her life’s blood flowed over his tongue, pooling in his mouth, her essence filling him.  She tasted better, sweeter, stronger, heavier. . . _headier_.  His head was spinning, swirling with the emotional tempest inside her, his ears ringing and he swore his heart thumped once with joy.  She tasted of heaven, of starshine and dewdrops, of soft lilting lullabies, and ocean deep awe.  He groaned into her skin, tasting the salty sweet sweat mingling with her coppery blood.  Another pull of her blood into his mouth and there it was, just a shadow of a taste, but it was _there_. . . the mingling of them both, the promise of a future he’d never dreamed he would have. . .    
  
 _Their child._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from one of the quotes; and the poem Spike quotes is from Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Love)


	34. Two hearts beat as one.

**_Book Two.  
  
Chapter 34.  Two hearts beat as one.  
  
  
this is going to take a long time and I wonder what's mine   
can't take no more   
wonder if you'll understand it's just the touch of your hand   
behind a closed door   
  
all I needed was the love you gave   
all I needed for another day   
and all I ever knew   
only you   
    Vince Clark, Yaz (Yazoo), 1982  
  
She is coming, my own, my sweet;   
Were it ever so airy a tread,   
My heart would hear and beat,   
Were it earth in an earthy bed,   
My dust would hear her and beat,   
Had I lain for a century dead,   
Would start and tremble under her feet,   
And blossom in purple and red.   
    Alfred Tennyson, She is coming, my own, my sweet  
_**  
  
  
The first one awake that morning, was, as is fitting on Christmas, the littlest inhabitant of Revello Drive.  The fact that he couldn’t do anything other than howl his displeasure about being alone and wet and hungry didn’t stop him from showing it.  Spike had heard the first rumblings of the infant’s wakefulness and the baby belly growls that signaled vampire-like hunger pains and rolled onto his back, trying to wake up.  He grinned for no apparent reason up at the ceiling, a soft purr emanating from his chest.  Connor started to howl and Spike was up at his cribside before the boy had a full throat on him.  Grinning down at the infant, he tickled him, then before the howls could reach dog-calling decibels, he picked him up.  
  
Connor was soaked from stem to stern, his diaper hanging off him, weighing down the sleeper.  Grimacing a little bit, Spike gingerly held him against his side, then lifted the soaked sheets from the bed also.  Figuring rightly that it would be easier to just strip the boy down and get him clean from the skin out, Spike brought him into the bathroom.  Filling the tub as he stripped off the sodden clothing, he dipped the boy into the water.  Connor gurgled happily, his legs moving at a rapid pace.  He was splashing, covering Spike in bubbles and all Spike could do was laugh right back at him.    
  
This time next year, it would be his own sprog gurgling happily up at him.  Spike still couldn’t completely wrap his head around that.  Even knowing it had been a possibility ever since Rupert had found out about the potentials, Spike hadn’t, _couldn’t_ bring himself to hope for it.  Not even after he’d smelled and sensed the changes that were going on in her body.  Part of him was too afraid to hope and another, bigger part of him wanted her to be the one to tell him – making it real, for both of them. And now it was more than possible.    
  
 _Buffy’s pregnant._  
  
Reality hit him square between the eyes as he looked down at the infant in the tub.  This was his life.  Infants.  Bills.  Medical expenses.  College tuition.  
  
Spike shook his head, pushing thoughts of a distant future out of his mind.  C _an’t think about that jus’ yet.  Niblet’s not ready for college. . . not yet.  Gonna have to worry ‘bout that soon enough._ He couldn’t believe . . . _well, mate, that’s wha’ happens when you take up with humans.  Get human worries._  
  
Not that he’d trade one second of this for going back to where he was less than a year ago.  Scrounging for blood.  Extorting money from the Scoobies and terrorizing fledglings to get him cash.  Living in a hole in the ground.  Shacking up with Harmony.    
  
That had to have been nearly the very bottom for him.  Harmony was a vapid, brainless twit whose only worth lay between her thighs and while she assuaged an itch sometimes, he could only stand her when she wasn’t opening her mouth to speak, which was far too frequently for him.  Thank god he’d seen the last of her.  He shook off the memories of her, focusing instead on what he had now.

   
 _Everything_.    
  
Acceptance from some of the Scoobies, including the Watcher, and now, Oxford.  That had been a surprise too, that Percy would lighten up enough to consider him a friend.  Christ, he’d craved that when he was William, from someone other than his mother, especially once the rest of the family were gone.  
  
Approval, also from the Scoobies, except for Xander, though Spike didn’t expect anything from the whelp ever, so that wasn’t an issue.    
  
Respect.  Something William had yearned for, as much as acceptance.  
  
Love.  _Oh, yeah, love’s bitch.  First, last, and always._   He could admit it.  Everything he’d ever done had been done to either prove his love to some woman or gain the love of some woman.  Always before now he’d crashed and burned.  His ill-fated infatuation for Cecily had doomed him to fall prey to Drusilla’s exotic wiles; his need to protect Dru had brought him to the very depths of his existence, alone, adrift without any means to feed himself other than relying on charity.  And yet, from those depths he’d discovered his greatest joy.  
  
It had taken a while to get there though the journey had been worth every step.    
  
Because now he had everything.    
  
Because of Buffy.  _Silly name for a girl._   But she was his world.  His everything.  And now everything really, truly did encompass _everything_.  
  
A muffled noise from the bedroom behind him pricked his attention and just as Spike was about to pull Connor out of the tub, Buffy opened the bathroom door behind him.  Connor splashed happily, getting more soap on his bare chest and Spike play growled at the boy, which just made him clap his watery hands together.  “Morning, you two.”  
  
“Mornin’, sunshine.”  When she draped herself over his back, leaning her head against his shoulder, so that she could watch him with the baby, Spike stole a look at her.  “All right then, sweetheart?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m okay.  Just missed you and heard you guys in here.”  She kissed his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his muscles moving under her cheek.    
  
“Could go back to bed.  It’s early yet.”  He leaned over, twisting so that he could brush a kiss across her brow.  “G’on.”  
  
“Actually, I was gonna go down and make prune-boy a bottle so that we could all go back to bed together.”  She snaked her arms around his waist, her fingers brushing over his toned abs.  “How’s that sound?”  
  
He thought about it for a long minute, just reveling in the feeling of being warmed from the water and her touch.  Neither one wanted to move and Connor seemed more than content to play in the water.  “Tell you what.  How ‘bout I go get the bottle and you and sprog meet me back in the bed in ten minutes.”  
  
“Mmmm. Buffy like that one.”  She quipped, letting her hands wander over his pectorals, and teasingly brush over his nipples.    
  
“Thought we weren’t supposed to do tha’ in front of spawn here.”  Spike growled deeply as she did it again.    
  
Her shrug moved her breasts and nipples against the muscles of his back and Spike forced away the growing arousal he felt at her touch.  “Not doing anything but touching.”  
  
Lifting the baby from the water in a strong yet gentle grip, Spike dumped him on the towel he’d laid on the floor.  Turning around he eyed her sleepy form.    “So, when I do this,” he said as he pulled one strap of her nightgown down, exposing her nipple to his heated gaze and lightly licked the very tip, “You won’t mind, coz all ‘m doin’ is _touching_ , yeah?”  
  
She inhaled sharply, not anticipating the electric bolts that arced through her at his touch.  Goosebumps rose across her flesh when he did it a second time, not a sound escaping him, and no other part of him touching her, just his tongue on her nipple.  
  
Buffy reached for him, though Spike stayed just beyond her touch, his tongue flicking gently over the nipple.  “It’s only a touch, yeah?  No harm in tha’.”  
  
His voice was husky, his breath almost warm as he blew air over her nipple.  Buffy wanted to drag him closer, but Spike was trying to prove a point, so he moved back away from her.  
  
Her nipples were both hard points, tantalizing him with their ripeness.  “An’ this is jus’ a touch.”  His left hand cupped the swelling weight of her exposed breast, his thumb brushing over her distended nipple, barely touching it.  Buffy fought the shiver his touch invoked, trembling under his gentle assault.    
  
A whimper sounded in the air around them, and it took her long seconds to realize such a needy noise had come from her.    
  
His eyes were intent on hers, watching her pupils dilate with arousal as he leaned down to lick her nipple once more.  “Jus’ a tiny touch.”  His tongue drew a wet circle round her areola, avoiding the nipple itself.  
  
Spike withdrew from her, then using one finger, he moved the other strap down, leaving both breasts bared to his heated gaze.  The scent of her arousal was over-powering in the small room and he stopped breathing so that he could maintain control over himself.  Buffy one-handedly gripped the side of the bathtub hard enough to turn her knuckles white as he lowered his mouth to the previously neglected breast.    
  
“Only a touch.”  He breathed over her, raising more gooseflesh, as his tongue streaked across her skin.  
  
“Oh god.”  She breathed out in a bare whisper.  “ _Oh god_.”  
  
Eyeing her breasts, Spike slowly ran a single finger over first one nipple then the other, watching her as the effect of his touch raced through her.  He moved no closer, breathed not a word, just merely touched her.  She was frozen in place by her arousal, unable to move, anticipation stringing her out over a deep precipice.    
  
He withdrew his touch from her, dropping his hand down to his side.  Her breathing was erratic and he could hear the thundering pace of her heart and, taking a huge gamble,  inhaled deeply.  His head swam with the overwhelming scent of her arousal.  He could taste it, feel it rolling across his tongue and sliding down his throat, that’s how potent it was.  Drawing in a second breath, no long caring of the infant that was quietly settled on the floor behind him, Spike moved again.  Using one finger again, he traced the lines of the pulsing blue veins on her leg, not stopping at the flimsy lace barrier.    
Buffy had nearly begged him to keep touching her when he’d stopped, though each time she tried opening her mouth, her voice eluded her.   Just when she was ready to scream, his finger slid along her leg, starting just below her knee, snaking up and over the rounded bend, and up along the smooth length of her thigh.  She watched, fascinated as his finger delved under the folds of her delicate nightgown.  She drew in a breath, unable to let it go for fear of the shrill noise that was sure to erupt from her throat.  
  
His finger brushed over the junction of her hip, sliding down over the fleshy globe of her ass, and there too, he could feel the gooseflesh come to life.  Grinning to himself, Spike let his digit roam over her, mapping the contours of her skin, reveling in the feel of her.  Her leg moved as he reached a sensitive spot between the globes, and he stroked it again, letting her feel the weight of her own arousal.  A wicked gleam entered his eyes and if she had seen it Buffy would have been very worried.  But she missed it and Spike just allowed his thoughts to wander along that path for a few more moments.  _Eventually, kitten, we’ll get here. . ._ so he kept his silence, letting his touch do what no amount of cajoling or pleading ever would.    
  
Her almost involuntary movements opened her up and he nudged her by just adding a tiny bit of pressure against her leg and Buffy followed his silent request by bending her knee  up.  She took advantage of his direction, angling her body to face him and the lace nightgown bunched around her waist like a decorative belt.  She was completely naked now, save for that scrap of material around her middle, exposed and open to his gaze.  It no longer mattered where they were or even who they were. . .  All that mattered was his touch upon her.  
  
His oh-so-evil finger traced a line from between her bottom up over the curls covering her sex, sliding effortlessly through the folds of her soaking pussy, settling over her stiffened clit.  He pressed it once, then abandoned it, letting his finger course over the delicate skin surrounding her engorged sex.   She garbled out something completely unintelligent and Spike’s expression turned into a lethal leer.    
  
She couldn’t bear it any longer, she needed to touch him back, affect him the way he was affecting her.  Buffy dropped her hand down to where his barely touched her and following his example, used one finger to touch him.  Her smaller, warmer touch traced the fine bones and muscles of his finger and hand as it flexed and moved against the warmest part of her, then trailed up to caress the strong sinewy muscles of his arm.  She followed the path of silent blue veins, her touch leaving heat behind, heat enough to warm him from the inside and Spike forced his attention back to his own task.  
  
Her hand ghosted up his arm as his finger slipped inside her, then slid out.  Her breathing hitched on a breathless gasp and Spike repeated the action and she retaliated by brushing her fingertip over his own hard nipple, simultaneously flicking it as he flicked her clit.  
  
The only sound in the room was the whisper of their touches, the soft exhalations of their breathing and for him, the thunderous sound of her pounding heart.  His name escaped from her in a whisper, no louder than a breath, though he heard her.   He started to speak and found he couldn’t, his own arousal as paralyzing as hers.  She switched hands, allowing the other to fall back along the line of her leg, and her hand dropped down to his half opened jeans.  He got up on his knees, allowing her the same freedom to explore and Buffy wasted no time in flicking open the rest of his buttons.    
  
Her finger traced over the head of his cock, watching it jump and strain against her finger, mesmerized as moisture gathered at the tip.  Using the moisture, Buffy slowly slid her finger over the swollen head of his erection.  Spike groaned low in his chest and Buffy could see the vibrations of it in his throat and her body thrummed in response.  She wanted him . . .  He regained her attention as he slid his finger deep inside and his thumb brushed over her clit.  Buffy retaliated by using her forefinger and thumb to circle around the tip and she moved her fingers up and down, just encompassing the head of his cock.  Spike rose up on his knees, letting the jeans slip down his hips, silently encouraging Buffy to let her fingers grasp his full length.  But she wasn’t done teasing him, because she ran her finger down the underside, dragging it over the small globes of his balls.  Spike looked down at her, his eyes glittering and feeling his attention on her face, Buffy lifted her eyes to watch him.    
  
She was swept away by the desire in his eyes, by the love swirling in the ocean blue depths.  Her fingers cupped his balls and she gasped as he slipped a second finger into her warm depths.  “Oh _god_ Spike. . . need you.”  
  
Her words broke the spell and he finally found his voice.  “Fuck, kitten, _need you_ now. . .”    His free hand circled round her hip, pulling her close, as he struggled to control his unnecessary breathing.  
  
“Buffy . . .”      
  
She didn’t resist.  She couldn’t.  Not when he said her name with such raw need.  
  
Her mouth settled on his as her name slipped from his mouth, tongue sliding between his opened lips.  Buffy broke the kiss, breathing his name out over his face as his hand cupped her breast and she leaned her forehead against his.  “ _Spike_. . . please. . .”  
  
He pulled her closer, molding her breasts against the hard planes of his chest.  “Buffy. . . now. . .”   Spike collapsed back on his haunches, her legs draped over his thighs.  “Lemme in. . . god, woman, lemme in.  _Now_.”  
  
Wrapping her arms around his neck, Buffy undulated against his cock, grinding over him.  Gripping her hips tightly, Spike lifted her up, positioning her over the tip of his erection.  Growling as she slid down on him, Spike threw his head back, jaw clenched, muscles standing out starkly.  “Fuck. . . sunshine.”  
  
Her pussy was hot living silk, wet and warm. . . _no, not just warm_. “Christ, Buffy . . . so bleedin’ hot.”   She was burning, scorching wet around him, drowning him in liquid fire, being inside her now was like being encased in hot. . .  “Augh . . .  _Buffy_. . .”  
  
It wasn’t enough, letting her set the pace.  He needed . . . groaning, Spike stumbled to his feet, Buffy still impaled, writhing on his cock, strangling him in her need.  
  
Bracing one hand on the wall, Spike held her to him, urging her to move faster.  Buffy was gasping, a softly breathed squeal erupting from her every time he moved.  
  
His foot brushed against the baby and Spike stepped away, then dropped again to his knees, laying Buffy down on the floor.  Thrusting hard into her, Spike reached for her clit and as he pinched it between his fingers, Buffy’s whole body arched, then convulsed around him.   Her orgasm triggered his and as he surged into her, she climaxed again, breathlessly crying out his name.  
  
Lifting her against him, he cradled his mate close, feeling her heart pulse all around him.  
  
Collapsing on the floor, Spike stared at her dazed features, then chuckled when she couldn’t move.    
Buffy laid her head on his chest, her legs splayed on either side of his hips, his cock still nestled within the warmth of her and she smiled.  Spike nudged her once and she lifted her head to look at him.  His hand slid up under her hair, cupping her head and instead of speaking, he pulled her closer for a deep kiss.   
  
She flexed around his cock, which had him grinning and ready again, but she stilled when a soft baby sigh interrupted.  Slowly she lifted off his chest, tightening around him and her gaze left his to focus on the infant on the floor beside them.  
  
Freezing a little, Buffy relaxed when she caught a glimpse of the baby.  He was flat on his back, sprawled out on the towel with part of it pulled over him, his thumb firmly in his mouth.    Connor was sound asleep.  
  
A soft giggle escaped from her and Buffy turned her eyes to Spike.  “Guess he really doesn’t care.”  
  
He started to speak and she said in mock anger, “If you like this, you won’t say anything, buster.  Not I told you so or anything else.  Not a word.”  
  
Instead of saying anything about Connor or their current positions, Spike just rolled them over, his arms circling her head and he leaned down to whisper into her ear, “See kitten, tha’s all it takes.  Just a touch. . . jus’ your touch. “    
  
He smiled then, once more whispering, “Happy Christmas, _wife_.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Dinner was done, the decimated remains of a mostly rare roast beef, turkey, potatoes, lots of vegetables and various other dishes still piled on the table, while the denizens of Revello Drive groaned in gluttonous happiness.  Giles leaned heavily on his elbow, a tumbler of MacAllan’s in front of him, while he looked around the table at everyone.  
  
 _It is_ , he thought, _a brief shining moment of respite amidst the chaos that was life on the Hellmouth._ And while not a pure undiluted happiness, it was so much the sweeter because it was not.  He grinned, watching Dawn preen over the bracelet she’d gotten from Casey, showing it off for perhaps the hundredth time, when he saw a look pass between the two Summers girls.  His attention pricked more when the unspoken communication appeared to be turning more urgent and Giles caught a glimpse of a wary look on Dawn’s face, which cleared up when Buffy shook her head.  
  
Wesley said something to Oz, drawing Giles’ attention away from the girls and he waited patiently while Oz wrote his response on the portable dry erase board they’d dragged out of storage for him to use.  They’d all surprised him this morning, eliciting a highly emotional response from the normally reticent man.  Everyone had finished opening their gifts and finally, when all the noise had quieted down for a second, Tara had nodded once to Spike, who reached behind the couch and removed the box he’d placed there for safekeeping.  The box was nearly as big as the werewolf and Oz had raised a single eyebrow in question.  He finally gave into everyone’s entreaties to just open the gift.  He’d shrugged in a typical gesture, his attention on the box.  As he’d opened it to reveal a new bass guitar and a used amplifier, Oz had tears in his eyes.  Unable to speak he’d just hugged the blond witch tightly, moving onto all the other girls one by one.  
  
All in all, this had been a very good Christmas.  Despite the loss and despair surrounding most of the past year, there was some glimmer of hope that the future might not be awash with death and destruction.  Yes, Joyce was gone, and very sorely missed.  Yes, Buffy had been gone, but she’d been returned to them.  Giles considered his Slayer, the daughter of his heart.  Buffy was sitting further down the table, on the other side of Wesley, while Spike lounged at the head of the table, his eyes never leaving her.  He smiled at something she said, then watched her pick at a piece of roast beef on her plate.  Spike raised a brow, silently urging her to eat it and Giles watched as Buffy’s face blanched a bit.  
  
 _No. . . this soon?_ Without thinking, Giles spoke, effectively silencing the conversation around the table.  “Good to see you are over whatever bug you picked up.  Feeling any better now?”  
  
She blushed, which pretty much answered his unspoken question and took a moment to compose her answer.  Without daring to look at either Dawn or Spike, Buffy tried to respond to Giles.  “Yeah.  Feeling all better now.  No more belly aches for Buffy.”  
  
Catching the gazes of everyone around the table, Buffy smiled wanly.  She studiously avoided looking at Spike, who leaned back at Giles’ question.  His eyes never left the Watcher, almost daring the other Englishman to press the issue.  
  
Dawn had frozen the instant Giles started to speak, her eyes seeking out the expression on Spike’s face.  Catching the look out of the corner of his eyes, Spike gently kicked her under the table.  Dawn relaxed, waiting to see what would happen when Buffy tried answering.  Rolling her eyes at the lameness of her response, Dawn couldn’t stop the snort of disbelief from escaping her lips.  
  
Anya, who had been starting to clear away dishes, bluntly stated, “Are you kidding?  You hardly ate much of anything.  Just mashed potatoes and a couple of rolls.” Her voice trailed off as she realized everyone was staring at her.  “What?  I’m just stating a fact.  Buffy didn’t eat much at all.”  
  
“Thanks, Anya.”  Buffy shrugged.  “So it’s still a little wonky.  It’s nothing that won’t go away.”  _In a couple of weeks. . . I hope._ She got to her feet, grabbing her plate and Spike’s in an effort to avoid everyone’s stares.  Trying to sound very chipper, she asked, “Who’s ready for dessert?”    
  
But her effort fell flat when her quick movement made her stomach heave and caused her face to loose all color.  No one spoke until Dawn said, “I’ll finish clearing.  You sit.  Dessert can wait.”  
  
Taking the plates from Buffy, Dawn pushed her way past Anya and into the kitchen.  Buffy sat down abruptly, unable to look at anyone, even Spike.  Tara leaned forward, facing Buffy across the table.  “Are you okay?”  
  
The Slayer shook her head.  “Gimme a minute.”  
  
Spike looked at her, communicating with her silently and she started to shake her head no, but finally after a few long moments in which everyone tried not to pay attention to them, Buffy visibly caved.  She nodded her head and Spike said, “Nib, come back in here.”  
  
Dawn came back into the dining room, a towel in her hand and in a stance very reminiscent of her father, she leaned against the wall.  Spike cleared his throat, gaining everyone’s attention.  “Right then,” he paused, all at once at a loss, he started to speak then stopped.  “Thing is . . .” and Buffy touched his hand and shook her head.  
  
“The reason I’ve been all under the weather Buffy is because,” and she paused long enough for Dawn to lose her mind and when it looked like Anya’s head was going to explode with curiosity and excessive tension, Buffy finally said, almost in a whisper, “I’m pregnant.”  
  
There was no sound until Oz banged his hand on the table.  Once he had everyone’s eyes on him, he wrote on the dry-erase board, holding it up for everyone to see.  He’d written one word, “Cool” and the sight of it broke the silence covering the room.  
  
Dawn pushed away from the wall, grousing good-naturedly, “So wanted to let the cat out.”  
  
Tara got up from her chair and made it to Buffy before anyone else.  Hugging her, she asked, “This is a good thing, right?”  
  
Buffy nodded tearfully, thankful that Tara didn’t judge her or her choice of mate, or any part of her life.  The two blonds hugged again and Buffy sniffled once, wiping her eyes.  Anya smothered her next, wrapping both arms around her shoulders, her voice very cheerful as she whispered loudly, “You do know that sex is supposed to be better when you’re pregnant.  Every part of you is more sensitive, at least that’s what I’ve heard.  Are your nipples sore yet?”  
  
The blush staining Buffy’s face bloomed into a cherry red and she covered her face with her hands.  Tara stared at Anya, unable to come up with something to cover the former demon’s pronouncements and the giggle that gurgled up nearly strangled the dark blond and she covered her mouth, but couldn’t stop the laughter.  Glancing over at Oz, who had both eyebrows up, Tara finally lost it, collapsing against Buffy’s shoulder in helpless giggles.  
  
The slayer glanced over at her vampire, who merely raised his eyebrow in question and the memory of their early morning activities surfaced, causing her blush to deepen.  There was no safe answer for Buffy to give Anya so instead she just said nothing.  
  
Giles sat still in his chair, completely at a loss.  He’d known this was a real possibility, once he’d found the information in the Council archives, though hadn’t expected it quite this soon.  Sharing a glance with Wesley, Rupert struggled to get his feelings in some sort of order.  Part of him wanted to berate Buffy for the insanity of getting pregnant now, given that Angelus and Drusilla were wreaking havoc and Willow’s motives and actions were also questionable. . . but that was just a small part.  His tight-lipped smile directed at Wesley gave away none of his thoughts, and he was grateful at the moment that the girls were reacting so volubly, because he had no idea how to frame what he was thinking.    
  
He wasn’t even sure _what_ he was thinking.  His Slayer, one of the longest lived in recorded history and twice returned from death, was pregnant.  This was monumental.  Of no less importance was the father of said baby, the Slayer of Slayers, William the Bloody.  He’d long since come to terms with Spike’s transformation and his differences from other vampires and his subsequent actions to protect those he loved. Spike might be a monster, but he was _their_ monster.  _Lock, stock, and bloody barrel._   Giles contemplated the pair at the opposite end of the table.  Buffy was haltingly trying to explain to the other females how she was feeling and what changes her body was going through, while Spike listened with half an ear, his eyes on her hands as she tried to explain.  
  
Wesley got up from the table, taking over the cleanup duties that the girls abandoned in light of the big announcement.  As he passed Spike, Wesley slapped him on the back and cracked semi-sarcastically at him, “Congratulations, old man, didn’t know you were up to the challenge.”   
  
Spike leered, chuckling deeply.  “‘M up to any challenge, Oxford.”  
  
Oz leaned over, thumping the table again to get Spike’s attention, his hand extended to offer congratulations.  The werewolf tried grinning, unfortunately the wires holding his jaw shut prevented it, though the sincerity in his eyes wasn't hard to miss.    
  
Leaving the girls to their chatter, Spike followed Wesley’s example and continued clearing away the dinner dishes.  Giles stared at the girls for a few moments longer, then got to his feet to follow the rest of the males into the kitchen.  Spike was loading the dishwasher while Wesley searched around for containers for the leftovers.  Placing his drink on the counter Giles wracked his brain for something to say, when Spike beat him to it.  “Go ahead, Rupes, it’s not like ‘m . . .” His voice trailed off and he looked at the older man.  “I know ‘m not what you wanted for her, so jus’ go ahead and say what’s on your mind.”  
  
“Actually, Spike, I wasn’t thinking that at all.”  Staring down at the blunt tips of his fingers, Giles struggled for words to explain to his almost son-in-law.  “I’ve not had the opportunity to have children of my own.   Buffy is as close to me as my own flesh and blood would be.  She’s made her choice of mate, and honestly, I can’t say that I fault her.  And I’m not unhappy for you.  I was merely thinking of the implications of this news.  We are in dire straits – what with Angel and Drusilla roaming about Sunnydale and an obviously out of control Willow.  I’m concerned for your safety.  For Buffy’s safety.  And your child’s.  We need everyone at top form.”  He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, his gaze settling on the blond vampire.  “The claim strengthens you both, but this news, while not unwelcomed, presents us with another set of minor difficulties.”  
  
Spike nodded his head in understanding.  “You aren’t sayin’ anything that hasn’t already gone through m’head.  But it’s not me you have to say anythin’ to, Watcher.  You need to speak to Buffy.”  He paused for a moment, looking at Giles, then said, “An’ you should do it soon.”  
          
            


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from that Irish band (from the album War, released in 1983)


	35. Patient for a moment

_**Book Two.  
  
Chapter 35.  Patient for a moment.  
  
A moment in time but time was made through that moment:   
for without the meaning there is no time, and that moment of time gave the meaning.    
    T.S. Eliot, Choruses from The Rock  
  
For one moment seek  
a lesser beauty  
and a lesser grace,  
but you will find  
no peace in the end  
save in her presence.  
    Hilda Doolittle, Amaranth  
  
One who cannot be patient for a moment will have days and months of trouble.   
    Chinese proverb**_  
  
  
  
The girls were still chattering away in the dining room, while silence reigned in the kitchen.  Spike had stopped what he was doing to stare at Rupert, who was focused on his drink.  
  
After realizing exactly what Rupert had just said, Spike cleared his throat.  “Did you just say you’re _not_ unhappy?”  He put down one of the dishes, then asked, “Did you also say you were concerned about _me_?”  
  
Giles cleared his own throat, still not looking at the vampire.  “Yes, well.  Perhaps I did at that.”  
  
Wesley hid his grin, listening to the good natured by-play between his two fellow Englishmen.  “Rupes, ‘m touched I am.  An’ here I thought you didn’t love me t’all.”  
  
“Pillock.”  Rupert was smiling and he’d said that last bit without venom.  
  
Spike waited until Giles had taken a mouthful of the smooth scotch then observed with deceptive idleness, “Guess this makes you grandpa.”  
  
Sputtering into his drink, Giles began coughing and choking, enough so that Wesley felt compelled to pound the older man’s back.  Oz was chuckling through his wired jaw and Spike was sporting a Chesire cat’s grin.   
  
Having won this round of verbal one-upmanship that they all occasionally engaged in, Spike was feeling a bit magnanimous.  Handing Giles a towel, he said, “You get to dry tonight.”  
  
“Bloody hell.”  
  
Rupert sounded so much like Spike in that moment that they all guffawed.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Xander stared down at the all-too-still form of his first girlfriend. _Why’d you cut your hair, Cordy?  Why didya never forgive me for that stupid mistake with Willow?  Why the hell did you ever go to LA?_ He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to – yet didn’t want to – know the answers too.  
  
Her chest rose and fell minutely, the movements barely discernable.  The doctors had stopped the coma-inducing drugs, but other than muscle spasms, there was no improvement at all.  “C’mon, Cordy.  Wake up and gimme some Christmas cheer.  Day’s almost over and hey, look, I brought you something.”  
  
Holding up a stocking full of chocolate candy, Xander waved it futilely over her still form.  Slumping dejectedly back in his chair, Xander let his hands drop.  
  
The Buffybot stirred, then spoke, sounding far to cheerful.  “Xander.  You should talk to her because her heartbeat moves faster when you speak.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
Pointing at the monitor, the bot said.  “I’ve become way good at reading these machines.  That one is for the heart.  Say something.”  
  
“Sure.  What?”  Thinking hard, Xander realized the irony of his situation.  The motormouth who, at the moment, couldn’t think of anything at all to say.  
  
“You’re a carpenter.  You build things.”  The smile on the bot’s features was blindingly inappropriate.    
  
“So?  And?”  He thought about it for a moment, shrugged and started talking about his job.  
  
The bot stared at the monitor, watching the blips increase in speed as Xander droned on about nothing in particular.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike was out on the back porch, pale blue smoke curling around his head, echoing the rings puffing from his mouth.  The snick of the back door closing behind him did nothing to disturb his contemplation of the clear starry night.  
  
He’d figured she’d make her way out here sooner or later, looking for him and a quiet moment.    
  
“Come sit with me, pidge.”  
  
His voice was calm, no discernable emotion coloring its depths and she smiled, thinking about how well he could read her, and her never very clear emotions, even when his own were just as tumultuous.    
  
Smiling a bit, she plopped down beside him with sudden absolute gracelessness, as if her limbs had grown inches between the time she came outside and sat down.  Casting an eye in his direction waiting for him to poke fun, she ran through her own snarky, witty retorts.  
  
When he remained silent, she almost felt cheated, since she’d been expecting his teasing commentary.  
  
Spike stole a glance at the woman-child sitting beside him and hid a grin.  
  
“Cough it up.”  
  
Whipping her head around to look at him, she started to say something, then thought better of it and snapped her mouth shut, clicking her teeth together.  
  
“You’ll explode if you don’t let it out, pet.”  
  
Staring down at her hands, she realized something and before her brain could stop her mouth, she was blurting it out.  
  
“We have the same hands.”  
  
Very aware that wasn’t what she’d come out here to say to him, Spike raised an eyebrow and said nothing, more than content to wait her out.  
  
“What was she like?”  
  
At that Spike did look at her, wondering what – or rather – why, she was asking about this.  And why tonight.  
  
“You said that she looked like me.  So, what was she like?”  
  
He picked up one of those little girl hands that was very like his own and searched for something to tell her.  
  
“Will the baby look like us?”  
  
 _So that’s what she’s really thinking about._   “Platelet, I’d imagine some would come through.  Did with you.”  He laced their fingers together, squeezing hers tightly.  “Not gonna change how I feel ‘bout you, sweets.  Nothin’ could change that.”  
  
“Spike. . .” Dawn’s voice was very quiet in the crisp air and for a second he could hear the echoes of his mother and Janet.  
  
“Dawnie.  You’re always gonna be m’girl, yeah?  Jus’ because there’s a new one . . .”   
  
He looked at her, watched as the one true feature they alone shared filled with tears and his resolve broke.  “C’mere, pidge.”  
  
Settling her under his arm, Spike stroked her back.  “You were the first Summers to really trust me.  First one to love me.   Ah hah. . .”  he motioned her to silence.  “Know those were planted mem’ries, but the truth is, pidge, without knowin that, an’ knowin’ full well what I am, you still did all that.  Fake memories don’t mean shite in the long term, Bit, the truth is here.”  His hand rested over his unbeating heart, then his knuckles thumped against her chest.  
  
“You’re mine, Dawnie.  Same way that one Buffy’s got all tucked up safe inside is.  You got here first.  An’ a bit differently, but who cares ‘bout that?”  
  
He wasn’t sure he’d made her understand, since he couldn’t see her face, but when a big fat tear plopped down on his thigh, Spike thought maybe he did.  
  
And when Dawn wiped her eyes, whispering, “Thanks, Daddy,” Spike knew it.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Everyone was sitting around, watching cheesy Christmas videos, bellies full and, in the case of Wesley, barely able to hold off napping, though Buffy wasn’t tired.  At least not at the moment.  Even Connor was sleeping, tucked into his portable crib in the corner of the living room, practically under the tree.  Scanning the room, she realized both Spike and Dawn were missing, but guessing where one was the other wasn’t far behind, she wasn’t worried about either of them.  She was, however, strangely hungry.    
  
And she wanted something she normally didn’t eat at all.    
  
She wanted . . . she didn’t know what she wanted.  _Peanut butter and jelly?_ Her belly rumbled its approval and following her impulse, Buffy headed straight for the kitchen.  _Hopefully, there’s some there._  
  
Half the sandwich was gone and she was busy looking for a glass to get some milk when she heard soft footsteps entering the kitchen from the dining room.  Without turning around, she poured herself a big glass of milk and following another impulse, she looked in the refrigerator for some butter.    
  
‘How’s your stomach?”  Giles’ soft question filled the air and though she had guessed it was him, Buffy stiffened just a little.  Aside from Joyce, this man was the one constant adult presence in her life since she’d turned fifteen and suddenly the bombshell she and Spike had dropped earlier seemed all the more like a really huge, big, enormous deal.  
  
“Pretty okay at the moment.”  Buffy smiled at him, her milk mustache making her look like she was five. She bit into the sandwich, humming a mindless “happy-tummy” tune while she chewed.  
  
Motioning to her face with a napkin, Giles said, “You’ve got a mustache.”  
  
A soft giggle overtook her and Buffy wiped it away.  Knowing just by the look on his face that Giles had loads to say, and probably not all of it of the good, she put down the sandwich and said, “Okay, Giles, spill.”  
  
“How are you feeling?”  The concern this time wasn’t feigned or forced so Buffy answered him honestly.  
  
“Aside from the weirdness that is my inability to eat, pretty okay.  I’m mostly tired.”   Absently she put two pieces of bread into the toaster and made herself another half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  
  
His eyes on her movements, Giles chose to say nothing about what she was doing, instead focusing on her words.  “So the nausea is manageable?”  
  
“Well, no.  I didn’t exactly say that.”  She paused, finished her milk and then headed back to the refrigerator for more.  “My belly has put new meaning into rebellious.”  
  
He couldn’t help the chuckle that surfaced at her deliberate over-exaggerated pronunciation of the word.  She certainly knew how to mangle the English language.  “Buffy.”  
  
The toaster popped and Buffy headed for it, not exactly encouraging Giles to continue, but more than aware he was going to say what he felt was necessary, regardless of her feelings on the matter.  He remained silent however, as she neatly buttered the toast and popped one of the pieces into her mouth before the butter had completely melted.  Buffy closed her eyes, savoring the crisp toast crumbs and the melting buttery taste on her ultra-picky tastebuds, and smiled.  
  
Giles watched her, an amused grin at her genuine delight at the taste of the toast playing about his features.   She caught his expression when she finally opened her eyes and Buffy smiled at him, blushing a bit at having been caught.  Without much of a preamble, he  took the opening her smile gave him, and spoke.  “I expected this to happen, just not quite this quickly.”  
  
He paused while she approached the counter, one piece of toast in her hand and apprehension blooming on her features.  “I’ve no doubt you were anticipating this outcome also.”  Buffy fidgeted with the toast, her fingers shredding the bread into smaller and smaller pieces.  “It is the usual inevitable outcome when one is newly paired and not thinking clearly about methods of prevention.”  
  
 _Excessive wordage.  Yup, definite signs of impending lecture from Watcher-guy-father-figure._   Stifling the sigh that threatened to escape from her lips, Buffy waited for the impending doom.  The silence loomed between them, and for once she realized that he was searching for a way to frame not only what he was thinking, but what he was feeling.  Never big with patience, something she more than had in common with her mate, Buffy started to speak, when Giles held up a hand, stopping the flow of her words before they even started.  
  
“Hear me out.”    
  
And he suddenly found himself without the ability to speak as his Slayer’s eyes filled with unexpected tears.  Her lower lip quivered a bit, though before he realized the harshness of his tone, she inhaled deeply and stopped herself from crying.  “Buffy, I,” he looked on as her resolve firmed, then reached for her hand, “I am sorry, that was rather harsh sounding.  Forgive me?”  
  
Without giving her more than a moment to shake her head, Giles forged ahead, although his first words perplexed her.  “Your mother was a fairly astute judge of character.  She never trusted Angel, even before the . . . well, and she trusted him even less after his soul was restored.  In hindsight, she was perhaps, smarter than the rest of us.”    
  
Giles shook his head, lost in remembrances for a moment, then brought himself back to the present.  “However, your mother did trust Spike from the first.  Why she did so always escaped me and we shared a few debates on the subject, especially in the last year, while we were battling Glory.  But your mother’s trust wasn’t misplaced at all.  In the end, she knew far better than I did, and that’s not something I relish admitting.”  
  
Her eyes were trained on his, searching for something other than sincerity on his features.  “Spike has more than exhibited his trustworthiness.  However, that isn’t the issue.  The facts are, the _situation_ we are in warrants caution and care.  Angelus and Drusilla are formidable opponents, ones we have faced before.  However it took the combined efforts of yourself and Spike to defeat them.  And you were in top form then.”  
  
His glasses came off and Giles peered at her a bit myopically.  “You are obviously not in top form, which has me concerned.  And not just for you and your safety.  I’m concerned about the baby, and god help me, Spike.  Should something happen to you or the baby, Spike would. . .”  
  
“Spike would rip Angelus and Drusilla apart.”  Buffy found her voice finally and her pronouncement was without inflection.  “You know it.  He wouldn’t rest until they were both gone.”  
  
“Even Drusilla?”  Giles wanted to be certain that Spike’s loyalties where undivided.  
  
“Giles.  If something were to happen to me or the baby. . .  Spike would. . .”  
  
“Spike would wreak bloody havoc, Watcher.”  His voice broke into the quiet conversation, his tones harsh and chilling.  “Doesn’t matter who’s done it.”  
  
Turning a slightly guilty countenance toward his Slayer’s mate, Giles caught the fierce and feral expression in his eyes, before Spike turned his head to gaze at Buffy.  “Not gonna let anything hurt my girls or the new one.  Should already know that, shouldn’t have to keep repeatin’ myself.”  
  
Letting Dawn slip in behind him, before he very carefully closed the door, Spike moved to stand behind Buffy, his arms circling around her waist.  His hands clasped protectively together in front of her belly and Buffy sort of leaned back against his chest.  Spying the shredded toast and the remains of a  peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Spike nudged her gently.  “Did you eat something?”  
  
“Yeah.  Not hungry anymore.”      
  
Before either of them could start arguing, Dawn interrupted, saying, “I’m just gonna go call Casey.  I’ll ah, talk to you later.  Thanks Spike.”  With that she was gone, pounding up the steps, escaping the uncomfortable atmosphere of the kitchen.  
  
Giles knew he had to do some fence-mending and he needed to do it quickly, otherwise Buffy would, no doubt, not forgive him.  “My apologies.  I’m concerned about the situation, and I believe it’s warranted, given what we are facing.”    
  
They were all quiet for a moment, each one of them deep in thought regarding the current situation.  Spike was, as usual the first one to speak.  “Not like Angelus to move before he’s ready, though us rescuin’ the cheerleader probably put a crimp in his plans.  He’s likely to strike now, an’ then skulk away for a bit.”  
  
“Any indication that other Aurelians might be responding to his call?”  Giles was worried about the number of possible opponents, knowing they had a finite number of battle ready warriors.    
  
“None yet.  Least a’ways none that I felt.”  The vampire shrugged, the motion pulling Buffy closer against him, her back molded to his front.  
  
“I’ll be back to good as new in a couple of weeks.  This belly-achy Buffy can’t last for the next nine months.”  
  
The two Englishmen shared a look over her head that Buffy didn’t catch.  “Kitten, dunno how much fightin’ you should be doing over the next couple of months.  Can’t take any chances.”  
  
“Spike, I should be fine.  I’ve been doing this for years and well, I won’t go out without you.  Besides, we still have skirt-girl who can do regular patrol.”  He’d forgotten about the bot, but Spike knew there was a flaw somewhere in her plans, mainly because he hadn’t thought that far ahead.  He’d been overwhelmed with just the emotions surrounding the truth of their reality.  The reality of Buffy being pregnant.  The more practical implications hadn’t begun to register within him, up until these moments with Rupert.  Leave it to the Watcher to think of the practicalities of the matter, while he was more concerned with the emotions.  Buffy was lost in her own thoughts, hers straying not to far from Spike’s, although on some level she was aware of Giles’ concerns and worries.    
    
“We must also take into account Willow.  Heaven knows what she’s up to, or what side of the fence she’ll land on.”  Once again Giles was spouting practicalities and possibilities.  Letting go with a very loud yawn, Buffy leaned her head against Spike’s shoulder.  
  
Giles caught a glimpse of the distaste within Buffy’s eyes and immediately changed the direction of the conversation.  “All that aside, you do realize this is a miraculous event.”  
  
A slight smile twitched on Buffy’s lips and as she stole a glance up at Spike’s profile, she threw Giles’ words from earlier back at him.  “But isn’t it the inevitable outcome when one is not thinking clearly about methods of prevention?”  
  
“Who said we were thinking about prevention?”  Spike’s voice was filled with laughter and some other emotion that Giles couldn’t really place.  ‘As I recall, most times wasn’t thinking clearly at all.”  
  
Rupert stared at the pair of them, fighting his laughter, affecting a stern visage.  “Really, must both of you mock me?”  
  
“Oh, Rupes, how to resist when it’s so bloody easy?”  
  
“Oh ha bloody ha.”  Despite the sarcasm in his tones, Giles was teasing them and it was very evident on his normally impassive face.  Breaking into a very proud grin, Rupert clapped Spike on the black and leaned down to brush a kiss over Buffy’s cheek.  “Still in all, it’s a miracle.”  
  
 _And_ , he thought, _it’ll be another miracle if we manage to keep you safe.  
_  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Everything was in place, everything was ready.  Her supplies were in hand, spread out before her, the book opened to the correct page and Willow had stripped away all the useless bits from the spell.  Jonathan had tried to remake the world so that he was the center of it all; and thereby throwing everything off to the point of instability.  Willow had no desire to be the center – she didn’t want the fame or fortune or the notoriety that had followed Jonathan around after he’d invoked the enhancement spell.  No, that’s not what she wanted.    
  
Willow wanted everything to be the _right_ way.  She wanted to be back with Tara, wanted to be Buffy’s best friend and the one Dawn turned to for advice and she wanted Giles to respect her.  And her power.  She wanted everything to be the way she thought it should be.  
  
Spike gone.  _Either back in his crypt or, hey, even further away._  
  
Tara back in her bed, soft limbs and welcoming flesh around her, holding her close.  
  
Buffy trading secrets with her about their lives and loves and all that encompassed being best friends.  
  
That’s what she wanted.  Everything back the way it should be.  
  
And that’s what she was going to get.  
  
Beginning the chant to start the wheels in motion, Willow pursed her lips into her resolve face and got to work.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
   
  
Finally, everyone who didn’t live in the house at Revello Drive was gone, back to their own homes.  Christmas was over.  Done.    
  
Buffy had survived her first Christmas without her mother and really, except for a few tough moments here and there, she’d been okay, and hadn’t let the tears fall.  Anyway, she wasn’t sure if the tears were there because her mother was gone or because she was all emotional girl because her hormones were getting wacky.  Spike was locking the door behind Giles and Wesley, turning out the lights as he made one final circuit through the house.  Watching him from the bottom stair, Buffy unconsciously rocked Connor in her arms.  The baby was barely awake, his eyes focusing on her features as he tugged on her lips and her hair.  Aside from the howling whenever he was hungry, Connor was a very good baby, even-tempered and quiet.  She found herself wondering which one of his parents he got those traits from, because in her experience, neither one of them ever exhibited any evidence of them.  
  
Spike stopped in front of her, looking down at her, a smile playing about his features.  “Did you have a good day, love?”  
  
“Yeah.  Did you?”  
  
His smile widened and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder as he swooped down to kiss her.  “Had a great day.”  
  
She bit her lower lip, looking up at him from beneath dark eyelashes, a question in her eyes.  “Really?”  
  
“Really, sweetheart.”    
  
“Really, really?”  She shifted Connor up to her shoulder and one hand smoothed the front of Spike’s shirt, fiddling with the collar.    
  
“Really.  Truly.  Haven’t done the Christmas thing in a very long while, love, but it was great.”  His thumb reached up to brush away a wisp of hair from her cheek and she curled into his touch.  “Got the best gift.  You.  Niblet.  Spawn.  And now bittybit.”  
  
“Bittybit? Spike, you are so gonna have to come up with something else to call this baby.  Bittybit is just weird.”  Her nose wrinkled and she pursed her lips, though there was a twinkle in her eyes that told him she was really teasing him.  
  
“Makes sense, though.  Dawn is bitty-Buffy and this new one is bitty-bitty Buffy.”  He was trying to keep a straight face, but her soft giggles were infectious and he was having a hard time holding back the laughter.    
  
“Well, what if it’s not a bitty-bitty Buffy, but a bitty-bitty Spike?  What are you gonna do then?” She glanced at him over her shoulder as they climbed up the stairs and nonchalantly asked him, “Gonna call him lil’ bad?”  
  
His answer was just a swat on her butt and a bit of a growl.    
  
“Is that supposed to scare me?  C’mon, Spike, what are you gonna call the baby if it’s a boy?  I’m so not dyeing an infant’s hair.  Or getting leather for a baby.”  
  
“Ha bloody ha, woman.  Very funny.  Wouldn’t do that to a nipper.”  He pushed open the door to their bedroom, letting her precede him inside.  “And your hair color is the one you were born with.”  
  
“Hey!  It’s close.”  Putting Connor down in his crib, Buffy turned to look at him.  “It’s closer than yours is anyway.”  
  
A raised eyebrow and a pointed look at her pelvis was all the answer he gave her, though she could see what he was thinking on his face.  As she was about to retort, a wide yawn overtook her and Buffy slumped down onto the bed next to him.  “So tired.  Wanna sleep.”  
  
“C’mon, love, into bed with you.”  
  
He settled in behind her, spooning against her back, his arms wrapping around her.  His left hand splayed over her belly and Spike whispered into her ear, “Love you, kitten.  You and bitty-bitty-bit.”  
  
Buffy laughed sleepily, whispering back to him, “I love you, too Spike.  You and lil’ bad.”


	36. Missing

**_Book Two.  
  
Chapter 36.  Missing  
  
And there's a message that I'm sending out  
Like a telegraph to your soul  
And if I can't bridge this distance  
Stop this heartbreak overload  
    John Waite, Missing You, from the album No Brakes, 1983  
  
And as I wander down to where you lay  
The blood rushed up to meet the roses  
In your hair  
I thought I saw you smile  
But now I don't see you anywhere  
Whispering your love song in my ear  
How can you touch me  
When you're not really there?  
  
Stumbling out I made my way towards the open door  
Climbing fast the sun broad streaming  
Laughter down into your empty gaze  
Where can I find out  
How I want to join in your games  
I hear you calling  
I hear you ... calling calling calling calling  
Whispering your love song in my ear  
How can you touch me?  
How do you really dare?  
    Arcadia, Missing from the album So Red the Rose, 1986_**  
  
  
  
  
The first stirrings of an unhappy infant woke her from a fitful sleep and Buffy grumbled into her pillow.  _So don’t want to get up.  Wanna sleep some more.  Why do I have to be the one all the time?_ Connor’s whimpers were becoming full fledged cries and Buffy realized she couldn’t ignore him any longer.  Lifting up the blanket, she wrinkled her nose and fought off the rolling nausea that was threatening.  
  
Connor stopped howling when she lifted him into her arms, though didn’t stop his fretting.  _This isn’t like him.  Wonder if he’s sick?_ He rested his head against her shoulder, but kept crying, his little breaths hiccupping every couple of moments.  “Hey little man, it’s okay, Buffy’s got you.”  
  
Even that didn’t calm him completely.  He settled down enough for her to realize her stomach was as unhappy as the baby.  Barely making it to the bathroom, Buffy vomited, narrowly missing the baby’s head.  
 _  
Something’s really off.  Wish I knew what it was.  Where’s Spike?  He’d know what to do._ Buffy stopped wiping her mouth, staring at her reflection in the mirror.  _Where did that thought come from?  Spike’s a pain in my butt.  Nothing more.  Right?_ Although the niggling thought about Spike knowing what was wrong and more importantly how to fix it wouldn’t go away.  Not while she rinsed her mouth, nor while she got herself and Connor dressed.  She couldn’t push it aside.  
  
The smell of pancakes hit her nose before she was all the way downstairs and Buffy’s speed picked up as her stomach growled with anticipation.  “Hey, Wills.  Morning.”  
  
Willow was flipping pancakes and stacking them on a plate.  Her greeting to Buffy was enthusiastic and the blond smiled back.  “Pancakey goodness.  Just what every hungry Buffy requires in the morning.”  
  
“Morning, you two.  How did you sleep?”  Willow made a silly face at Connor, except instead of giggling like he usually did, the baby just started wailing again.  Willow pulled away, saying, “Guess someone isn’t a happy camper today.”  
  
“Nope.  I think he woke up on the wrong side of the crib.”  Buffy shrugged, getting a bottle from the fridge.  “So what’s with pancakes this morning?”  
  
“Nothing.  Just woke up early and figured I’d make everyone Willow’s special.”  
  
“Ooh!  Chocolate chip?”  Dawn’s voice sounded from the hallway and she entered moments later all sleepy-eyed and disheveled.  
  
“Yup.  Chocolate chippyness coming right up.”  
  
Dawn squealed, hugging Willow then snagging a pancake all in one move.  
  
Connor was fighting the bottle, pushing it away and crying.  Buffy jostled him a bit, but he wouldn’t settle down.  Dawn made a face, grimacing at the noise.  “Can’t you get the spawn to shut up?”  
  
“Dawnie, he’s a baby and he’s obviously not feeling good.  Be nice.”  Buffy had a reproving look on her face, though Dawn didn’t back down.  
  
“Brat does nothing but complain.  You need to find out what his deal is.”  
  
Snagging a rolled up pancake, Buffy left the kitchen, muttering under her breath about bratty little sisters and how they should be more understanding.  Even as she did it, something about the wrongness of what she was saying and Dawn’s actions played on her mind.  Something was off about this morning and it wasn’t just Connor’s constant crying.  She just couldn’t put her finger on it.  
  
Everything felt wrong.  
  
From the moment she’d woken up until just now.  
  
Something was missing.  
  
Out of place.  
  
Buffy sat down in the big chair, trying to calm Connor and he was just settling down when Willow came into the living room and held out her arms.  “Here, give him to me.  You get some pancakes.”  
  
After a moment’s hesitation Buffy started to hand him off, but Connor’s entire body stiffened and he wailed his protest loudly, almost hysterically.  
  
Afraid she would drop his suddenly stiff form, Buffy held him close, rocking him against her breast.  “Shush.”  
  
Willow made to touch him and the baby visibly flinched again, burrowing closer to Buffy.  Pulling him away from the redhead’s touch, Buffy said, “No worries, Will, I’ve got him.  He doesn’t want anyone but me, I guess.  It’s okay.”  
  
“You want me to bring you something?”  Willow backed away, apology written on her features.  
  
“Yeah, that’s fine.  Just no syrup.”  
  
It took a while though she finally got Connor calmed enough so she could eat.  
  
Although she still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very off.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The feeling of wrongness didn’t fade at all as the day wore on.  If anything, as the hours passed, it got worse.  
  
Tara and Willow were cuddling on the couch, _oohhing_ and _ahhing_ over their gifts and some movie they were watching.  
  
Dawn had gone out with Casey, spending the day together, out to dinner and then a movie.  At least that was their plan.  
  
And through it all, Buffy felt off.  Wrong.  Out of touch with something vital.  
  
Abruptly deciding she couldn’t stand it any longer, sometime around four o’clock, Buffy got out the stroller, bundled up the still whimpering Connor and headed for the Magic Box.    
  
That was another thing.  Connor.  He couldn’t stand to be near Willow – reacting physically whenever she was close and crying whenever Buffy wasn’t holding him.  She was at her wit’s end with the baby, unable to get him to stop whining for any period of time.  And she knew that wasn’t like him.  
  
Her slayer sense was telling her something was wrong.  
  
Connor’s behavior was telling her something was very wrong.  
  
She just didn’t know what the hell it was.  
  
Going to the Magic Box to see Giles would help.  He and Wesley would start with the research and that would help.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike couldn’t sleep.  
  
He was up, pacing the confines of his crypt, moving from one thing to the next without being able to focus on any one thing.  
  
Something was up.  Something was brewing.  
  
 _Something’s not right_.  
  
The crypt smelled wrong, for one thing.  
  
Unused.  Unlived in.  Empty.  
  
Like he’d been away for a while and he had no memory of leaving Sunnydale at all in the last months.  He wouldn’t have done that anyway.  Buffy had asked for his promise.  
  
 _Buffy . . ._  
  
Something wasn’t right there, though he couldn’t put his finger on it.  _Was she in trouble?  Was Dawn?_  
  
Spike stopped his endless pacing, cocking his head to the side, thinking hard.  He’d woken up just after daybreak, in his chair, the television on.  Nothing really unusual there, only it didn’t feel right.  Nothing about today felt right.  
  
He felt like part of him was missing.  
  
Not that he thought it would do him any good, but maybe the Watcher would have some answers.  
  
Heading down into the lower level, Spike figured it would at least eat up part of what was left of the day.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Wesley was tired.  
  
Tired of hospitals.  
  
Tired of falling asleep in chairs that didn’t accommodate his height.  Tired of beeping machines and over- solicitous nurses and smug doctors and exceedingly tired of listening to bad news.  
  
So he was inordinately easily persuaded by Xander’s request to sit watch over Cordelia.  
  
He didn’t protest when Xander dropped Anya at the Magic Box and announced he was going over to the hospital.  Wesley merely waved him off, unaware of Anya’s upset.  
  
Giles noticed.  
  
There wasn’t much about Anya that Giles missed these days.  That her face fell whenever Cordelia’s name was mentioned.  That her mood lightened the longer she was apart from Xander.  That there was an increasingly wistful look on her features whenever Buffy and Spike were nearby.  
  
 _Wherever did that thought come from, old man?  There’s nothing between Buffy and Spike.  Right?_  
  
Giles was drawn from his thoughts by the appearance of his Slayer.  Pushing a pram.  With a softly whimpering infant.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Four solid walls and twenty-three hours a day in lock down don’t give a girl much more to contemplate other than navel lint and chin hair.  That is, if you happen to be a normal girl.  
  
If you aren’t blessed with normalcy and instead are gifted and Chosen, four walls and twenty-three hours of solitude give a girl a long time to consider the meaning of dreams and portents.  
  
And cryptic messages from higher powers.  
  
Faith figured the only good thing about being locked up, aside from the GED she’d gotten, was the patience she’d learned.  
  
Patience had been an indulgence she’d never allowed herself on the outside.  _Now?_   Now she had no choice but to learn patience.  And to hone her admittedly lacking interpretive skills.  
  
So when the dreams started coming faster last spring, faces and voices disturbing her sleep, some she was more than familiar with and some she’d rather not know – Faith knew something big was going to go down.  
  
And then, one night in late May, Faith had nearly lost it when a light in her soul went out.  
  
She didn’t need the confirmation Angel’s next visit brought.  Faith _knew_.  Buffy had died protecting the world.  And she’d raged, in her own not-so-quiet way, taking out her emotions on some hapless fellow inmate, earning herself long nights and endless days in solitary.  
  
The dreams and visions had shifted then, and Faith had more than an inkling of where her counterpart had gone.  She’d seen – or sensed – what had been done in Buffy’s memory.  Somehow the overwhelming, wrenching grief of one vampire reached into the other realms, alerting all super and other natural beings to the depths of his despair.  
  
And it wasn’t the grief of the vampire that possessed a soul.  
  
Faith had wondered, that time she’d switched bodies with Buffy, how William the Bloody had known – but the dreams answered that question.  It was more than apparent to Faith Spike’s feelings for Buffy were very real.  And very deep.  
  
So when the dreams changed again – and this time including images of Buffy with Spike – Faith didn’t question the truth of them.  Somehow, and Faith wasn’t too clear on the specifics, but somehow Willow had brought Buffy back and now Spike was a big part of Buffy’s life.  
  
Only now the dreams were changing again.  
  
For almost the last week, the dreams had been getting darker and darker and more ominous.  If she was interpreting them correctly, and she really hoped she wasn’t, there was something up with Angel.  And it wasn’t good.  
  
She hadn’t had any contact with the outside world since before Halloween.  
  
That wasn’t normal.  
  
So when she woke this morning, in a cold and clammy sweat, shaking with tears streaming down her face, Faith knew she had to act.  
  
 _Time to get out of solitary.  
  
Time to get out of this place._  
  
Banging on the walls of her prison cell, Faith came up with and discarded at least ten different escape plans.  _One way or another, I am so outta this hole tonight.  
_  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Spike was wondering why the hell he was feeling like he was missing a limb.  Drusilla wasn’t dust – and it wasn’t quite the same thing as when Darla got dusted.  
  
This wasn’t nearly the same.  
  
This was like his heart had a hole in it.  
  
A Buffy-sized hole.  
  
He stopped walking, his thoughts focusing inward.  There were bonds on his heart, in his blood that belonged there – and then there was this new feeling of incompleteness.  That was part of the wrongness.  Her Watcher might not believe him that something was off, but he would help.  He’d earned that much from him.  
  
Resolve strengthening his steps, Spike took off again for the Magic Box, ignoring the other foot traffic in the tunnels.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“I can’t get him to stop.”  Buffy was pacing the training room floor, Connor fretting and crying even as she held him.  It wasn’t any easier here in the Magic Box, except that the baby had stopped wailing.  
  
He still cried when someone other than her tried to hold him, except he hadn’t stiffened up the way he did with Willow.  
  
Right now, his head was on her left shoulder, snot and tears running down his little face and covering her shoulder.  Buffy had one hand rubbing his back while she had the other wrapped around his waist.  “Giles, he’s crying like his little heart is broken.  What is wrong?”  
  
“I wish I knew.  My experience with infants is severely limited.  I have as much idea about what to do as you.”  Giles peered at her from his perch on the couch’s arm.  “Have you any ideas, Wesley?”  
  
“Have you tried consulting one of the child-rearing books or websites?”  Wesley’s knowledge was as extensive as the other two – which put it at zero.  “I’m sorry, Buffy, I’ve no idea what could be wrong with the boy.”  
  
Just then Connor let loose with a heartbreaking howl and Buffy turned tear-filled eyes to the two Englishmen.  “I can’t listen to this much longer.  He’s breaking my heart.  It’s been hours now and he’s still crying and shouldn’t he at least be so exhausted that he’d fall asleep?”  
  
“I don’t know, Buffy.  I’m at a loss.”  Giles shared a look with Wesley, but neither one could come up with something useful.  
  
Buffy plopped down on the couch between the two, a pout blooming on her features.  
  
“What am I gonna do with this baby?”  
  
“Give him here, Slayer.”  The baby jerked his head in the direction of the deep voice, almost jumping from Buffy’s arms.  
  
Spike leaned down to take the crying baby from her and before any of the others could react, had him in his arms and Connor sighed once, then shuddered and promptly, blissfully, stopped crying.  
  
Which was fine until Buffy looked up at Spike, saw the expression on his face and she promptly burst into tears.  
  
“Hey now, what’s this all about?”  Spike couldn’t keep the concern from his voice, nor did he object when Buffy unexpectedly launched herself up off the couch and into his arms, nearly pushing aside the baby.  
  
Spike looked to the other two Englishmen, though neither man had an answer for him.  They were as shocked as he when the Slayer had practically jumped into his arms.  
  
“What’s wrong, kitten?”  Spike felt like part of the ache that had been gnawing at his heart had been eased by just looking at her – but he’d been wrong, because holding her nearly made it go away.  Didn’t matter when she only answered him by squeezing his waist and Spike knew something was seriously wrong when she didn’t let him go.  
  
“Right then.  Watcher – something’s not right.  Woke up this mornin’ feeling something had gone off.”  He stopped talking when Buffy interrupted him.  
  
“Told you something was wonky.  I woke up feeling all lonely like and that waking up alone was wrong.”  She pouted a bit, adding, “Even Connor felt it.”  
  
“All right.  So the feeling of being off started when you both woke up.  What do you remember about this morning?”  Giles got up from the couch, his glasses in hand while he waited for a more detailed explanation.  
  
“Nothin’.  Woke up.  ‘Cept the crypt smells like it hasn’t been lived in for months.”  Spike shrugged as well as he could with his arms full of Buffy and Connor.  
  
“Woke up.  Threw up.  Got dressed.  Willow was making pancakes.  Connor screamed and wouldn’t let Willow take him so I could eat.”  Buffy sniffled again and Spike automatically nuzzled against her, then reeled back in reaction.  
  
“Spike?”  
  
Three voices said his name at once and all he could do was stare at her, his eyes sparking and nostrils flaring, drawing in unnecessary air.  Instead of speaking, which Spike wasn’t even certain he was capable of at the moment, he pulled her closer and inhaled deeply.  
  
“Spike?”  
  
Only Giles’ voice questioned him this time, because Buffy could feel the laxness in his muscles and also the almost inaudible rumbles that were rolling through him in waves.  Wesley was too caught up in his study of their faces to speak.  There was more going on here, more than just something being off.  
  
“ _Spike_?”  
  
Using his free hand, Spike pushed aside Buffy’s hair and ran his thumb over bite marks on the right side of her neck.  Buffy whimpered, then turned a liquid gaze on him.  His returning look was tender and fierce.  “Slayer’s claimed and mated, Watcher.”  
  
“What?  Are you implying some vampire has claimed Buffy?”  Giles spluttered a bit, his eyes almost bugging out of his head.  
  
“Implying nothing, Rupes.  ‘M stating a fact.  ‘ve claimed and mated your Slayer.  That’s my mark she’s got.”  
  
The silence lasted for long moments and surprisingly it was Wesley who broke it.  “Do you think someone’s attempting to break the claim?”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Tara got up from the couch, leaving Willow to go make another cup of tea and grab something to snack on.  Riffling through the freezer, Tara spied a container of ice cream. _Oh, this is good.  Huh?_   The flavor was not one any of them liked, although Oz was known to indulge . . . _where the heck did that thought come from?  How would I know Oz’ favorite flavor of ice cream?  And why would we have some here?_ Shrugging away the weird thought, Tara shoved the butter pecan back into the freezer.  
  
Grabbing a bag of cheese doodles for Willow and some chex mix, Tara headed back into the living room.  She stopped short at the sight that greeted her.  
  
Willow had turned out all the lights except for the ones on the Christmas tree and the flickering television, then slipped out of her fuzzy pink sweater, leaving her covered only by a lacy pink camisole and pajama pants.  Tara’s face got flush and her mouth watered.  Letting her dark lashes flutter over her eyes, she focused all her senses on her delectable girlfriend.    
  
And reeled back in sudden fear and doubt.  
  
 _Oh goddess. . . what have you done now?!  
  
What in all the heavens have you been doing?_  
  
Dark bands of angry colors swirled around her lover’s aura, like snakes writhing about decaying flesh.  Repelled, Tara drew back away from the sight, drew back from her lover.  
  
Willow’s voice sounded in the air between them and Tara opened her eyes at the sound.  
  
“Hey, baby.  Gonna come get comfy?”  Willow smiled at her and all negative thoughts fled.  
  
Willow was love. . . Tara stepped forward, suppressing the shivers that slid beneath her skin, ignoring for the moment, her own intuition.  
  
It had to be some other reason why her senses were screaming at her.  Couldn’t be Willow.  
  
 _Couldn’t be._  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Claims can’t be broken.”  
  
Why Giles’ softly worded statement filled Buffy with relief she couldn’t say.  All she knew was the sudden irrational fear that sprung up with Wesley’s question eased.  Spike’s response, however, set her heart thumping loudly in her chest and brought inexplicable tears to her eyes and closed her throat.  
  
“Doesn’t matter – even without a claim I’m not leaving.  Never gonna leave.”  
  
Only he heard the hitched sob break from her throat, only he heard the thunderous beat of her heart as his words sounded in the air, his breath washing over her.  Only him.  
  
Buffy turned watery hazel eyes on him and Spike felt the ache in his heart constrict, choking him.  Staring down into the green pools, he whispered for her ears only, “I love you, Buffy.  Even if somehow, something did the impossible an’ broke the claim – I’ll still love you.  An’ I won’t ever leave you.”  
  
Her lower lip quivered, the threatening tears spilled over and she slipped a shaking finger over his lips.  “I . . .” Her voice broke, almost croaking and she tried a second time.  “I believe you, Spike.  I really do believe you.”  
  
His lips kissed her finger, then brushed over her forehead.  Long fingers threaded through her hair, holding her close and Buffy brushed her own lips over the soft skin on his neck, next to where Spike cradled the baby.  
  
Opening his eyes to look at her Spike realized they were alone, the Watchers giving them unasked for privacy.  Buffy shivered in his arms and Spike brushed another kiss on her temple.  
  
“Need to get you warm, kitten.  When was the last time you ate?”  
  
As he spoke he moved them toward the couch, pushing her down and handing off the baby.  When the whimpering didn’t start up again, Spike covered them both with his duster and called out for the Watchers.  
  
  
  
  
    



	37. What love can do

_**Book Two.  
  
Chapter 37.  What love can do  
  
An illusion which is a real experience is worth having.   
    D.H. Lawrence, The Ladybird  
  
What staggers me is not the persistence of illusion,  
 but the persistence of the world in the face of illusion.     
    A. G. Mojtabai, Mundome   
  
Is not this whole world an illusion?   
And yet it fools everybody.   
    Angela Carter, Nights at the Circus  
  
With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls,  
For stony limits cannot hold love out,  
And what love can do, that dares love attempt.   
    Romeo and Juliet, act 2, sc. 2, l. 66-8.   
  
This is one of the miracles of love:   
It gives … a power of seeing   
through its own enchantments   
and yet not being disenchanted.   
    C. S. Lewis, A Grief Observed  
  
**_  
  
Dawn kept looking over her shoulder, her eyes drawn to the dark shadows between buildings, the darker shadows where no light penetrated.  The feeling of something – or someone dogging their footsteps wouldn’t leave her and she knew her behavior was bugging Casey yet she couldn’t stop herself.  
  
Being outside at night was somehow wrong.  
  
 _Okay, it is Sunnydale and weirdness only gets weirder at night,_ but the feeling crawling along her skin right now was beyond _ookie_.  This was . . . _I’m eleven again and there’s more than one evil vampire out there._   
  
This was knowing the monsters in your head didn’t just exist there.  
  
This was. . .  _Nothing more than bad memories coming back to haunt you at the worst time, Dawn._  
  
Rolling her eyes at herself, and her over-reaction to being out after dark without Buffy or Spike around, Dawn slipped her arm though Casey’s and ignored the darkness creeping closer.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Oz played with a melody that was working its way through his head, his eyes unfocused as his fingers plucked out the chords for the song he’d yet to finish writing.  The strains of the acoustic rang in the air of his otherwise quiet apartment and he couldn’t shake the image from his mind, the one his melody was invoking.  
  
A scent teased at his nostrils, his clothes and skin covered with it and for a long moment Oz just let his mind drift.  _Sandalwood and honeysuckle and dark blond hair, soft limbs. . ._   Oz thought his mind was playing tricks on him when Tara’s face swam into his consciousness.  _Why am I thinking about my ex-girlfriend’s new girlfriend?  
_  
Because – _her scent is all over you_.  
  
Oz’ fingers faltered on the strings and he put the guitar down.  Memories and perceptions can be altered, but his wolf senses over-rode what his human mind _knew_.  His senses were telling him he’d been with Tara for days – without any hint of Willow anywhere.  
  
Grabbing up his dry erase board, Oz left a note for his roommates and headed for. . . well, he wasn’t sure where he was going, but his nose would know.  
  
                                  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
      
It wasn’t hard at all to pretend panic.    
  
For some inexplicable reason, at least at the time, Faith had lied to the California State authorities upon her entrance into the penal system.  She’d listed Buffy Summers as her sister and next of kin.  
  
And for some equally bizarre reason, no one had questioned it ever.  
  
With the gut-clenching, throat-constricting fear riding her belly, Faith played her hand with the warden.  Thankfully, the warden was of the male persuasion – and not immune to Faith’s contrite act and more than willing to allow her to make a phone call, in exchange for Faith’s complete _compliance_.  
  
Wasn’t the first time she’d sold the use of her flesh to get something.  
  
Was just the first time she did it for someone other than herself.  
  
 _Hope I’m there in time, B – otherwise this is just gonna piss me off more._  
  
With a smile that never reached her eyes, Faith slipped out of the prison issued jumpsuit and got ready for another performance.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike had goaded Giles into ordering food for them all, using the argument that Buffy was exhausted and looked about to keel over from fatigue and hunger to get the old man to open his wallet.  Not that the older man minded.  He seemed to be willing to delve deeper into what both he and Buffy had been trying to tell them.    
  
The bell over the shop entrance rang and Spike got to his feet, surprised when Willow’s dog-boy came in with a white board and marker.  Wesley pivoted in his chair, his eyes pinned on the new arrival and Giles started to speak, but the phone ringing pulled his attention away from their visitor.  
  
“Oz?”  Buffy’s question broke the silence at the same moment Giles picked up the receiver.  
  
The werewolf smiled, which consisted of nothing more than a raising of his upper lip and he pointed to the dry erase board.  “Something’s up.  I smell like Tara.”  
  
He’d expected a bit more of a reaction than he got, which was Spike merely tossing aside a book he’d been reading, then head for the training room as a distressed groan emerged from Buffy; and Wesley pivoting on his chair, then writing down something on the papers beside him.  
  
The arrival of Willow’s former boyfriend triggered a memory within Wesley that he felt an almost desperate need to write down before it eluded him.  The words poured from his pen, in short flowing script and Wesley fought the pull of the distraction of the voices around him.  The growing list of  – warnings from a grim-voiced Dawn, repeating words in a language she did not speak surfaced in his head and Wesley quickly wrote them down, ignoring the discussion going on over his head.  
  
 _Can’t help but think this is all in some way connected.  The images in my head, the cryptic warning._ Wesley laid it out on paper, then spoke, interrupting whatever discussion was being conducted around him.  “Do either of you have any recollection of a message delivered by Dawn?”  
  
Spike and Buffy shared a look, though it was Giles who spoke.  “Was it delivered in Gaelic?  Or some other . . . I’ve a sense of something teasing at the edges of my memory and I cannot seem to grasp it completely.”  
  
“Yes.  That would be my vague recollection also.”  Wesley jotted down another note, idly noting that Spike once again had the whimpering baby in his arms.  “When was the last time the baby had a bottle?”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
There were a couple of moments, especially when everyone first woke up, that had given Willow butterflies.  
  
 _When the baby screamed and wouldn’t let me hold him.  
  
When Buffy got a far-away and distracted look on her face.  
  
When Tara had gone to get snacks earlier._  
  
Every time something like that happened, Willow held her breath, hoping – praying the spell would hold and solidify.  
  
The spell itself was perfect – and she even used English – not some other ancient obscure language that she couldn’t speak.  The ingredients for the casting had been perfect.  
  
Her intentions were clear.  
  
It was a simple stupid spell – so how come when she’d cast it there had been – _some sort of mystical block?  No, wasn’t a block . . . was more like ties_ – threads, braided together into a beautiful and unbreakable tie.  Bonds.  
  
Willow couldn’t trace the source of whatever it was – couldn’t figure out what exactly was stronger than anything she’d ever encountered before – so she just ignored it, tried to pretend it didn’t exist.  Yet she couldn’t just ignore something that was eternal and elemental, deep and strong as an ocean and as solid and sturdy as the earth’s core.  And because she couldn’t just ignore it she had serious doubts about the spell’s stability.  She had a horrible sinking feeling that it was going to come crashing down – and she was filled with doubts about what she’d done.  
  
Tara stroked her hand down Willow’s arm, brushing her knuckles deliberately over the sides of her sensitive breasts and Willow’s resolve and faith in her actions was bolstered.  
  
 _I did the right thing.  
  
This is the way it’s supposed to be._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
He didn’t know what had given the Slayer’s people the arrogance they were currently exhibiting, and he honestly didn’t care, because they were playing right into his hands.  The smell of the little girl and the boy was intoxicating – deliciously fresh and untouched – both of them.  Inhaling deeply, his senses focused on the two teenagers walking boldly down the dark streets of downtown Sunnydale.  A _hhhh, untouched virgins. . ._   Angel watched them swinging their hands between them, noting the body language of not-yet-lovers and smirked.  
  
 _Soon . . ._  
  
The Slayer’s sister stopped, peering around and checking shadows for . . .  _Me?_  
 _  
Oh, this is touching. . . she’s feeling something following her and she’s sensing. . ._   Realizing that he didn’t want to fully reveal his presence until he was ready, Angel slipped further away, taking to the rooftops instead of being on street level.  It would be harder for the girl to sense him.    
  
He was in the mood to play with his prey, to stretch out the hunt.    
  
 _Let Dru deal with all the guests . . . Daddy’s girl loves a party anyway.  I’ve got better things to do with my night._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Obviously this wasn’t Connor’s first trip to the Magic Box, because there was canned formula and a bottle on a shelf in Giles’ office, which they managed to get heated by jury-rigging something with the electric teapot.  He stayed quiet as long as Spike held him, which by turns amused the Slayer and aroused a sense of jealousy that she couldn’t control.    
  
“How come you can get him to be quiet?”  Her pout was adorable, and Spike wondered what the Watchers would do if he actually acted on his impulse to pull her onto his lap and nibble on it while someone else tended the baby.  
  
“Dunno, sweets.  Might be the lack of heartbeat or the boy’s sense of smell.”  Instead of diving for her lip, Spike looked away, catching the speculative look on Giles’ face.  “What’s that old man?”  
  
He shook his head.  “Loathe as I am to admit it, you do have a probable reason why the infant reacted the way he did.”  Giles reached for one of his personal journals, thumbing through it for a moment before continuing.  “He is only a few months old and his mother lacked a heartbeat for nearly the full term of her gestational period.  It’s quite possible that the lack of same is a comfort for him, instead of alarming.”  
  
Apparently he found what he was looking for, because he stopped speaking then said, “By the way, Buffy, that was Faith on the phone.  Evidently she’s had a few alarming Slayer dreams in the past week.  Have you been plagued similarly?”  
  
Without moving from her spot in front of Spike, Buffy glanced over at Giles, snuck a glance back at Spike as she rolled her eyes and said, “No, Giles, I haven’t had any Slayer dreams. . . but then would I remember if I did or didn’t?”  Spike hid the grin while she started on a rant.  “Isn’t this part of why we’re here?  Because something’s off and none of us can make with the eureka! I’ve got it?”  
  
“Actually it’s eureka! I’ve found it.”    
  
“So not the point. You know what I mean.”  Buffy gave him a look that spoke volumes about his nitpicking over word usage and faced her Watcher squarely.  
  
“Spike and Connor have bonded, which is wiggy enough.  Spike has claimed me, which should be even wiggier and isn’t. . . Oz smells like Tara which is . . .” A strange look crossed her features and Buffy burped then made a face like sour milk had curdled in her belly and before any of them could ask her what was wrong now, she grunted and ran for the bathroom.  
  
Her retching could be heard through the suddenly quiet shop and without thinking about his actions, Spike stood up, handed the baby off to Wesley and took after Buffy.  The other three men exchanged looks while Anya quickly shooed the last customers from the shop.  
  
“Giles?  I think there’s something wrong with Buffy.”  Anya stepped in front of him, a quirky smile on her face that looked more likely to turn into tears than not, and she said, “Perhaps you should make sure the claim is okay before we do any more research.  Claims that are tampered with can be . . . well, I’ve actually never heard of anyone trying to tamper with a claim, but there’s always a first for everything.”  
  
“Indeed.  Perhaps you are right.”  Directing Wesley to hand him one of the books on his desk, Giles said absently to Anya, “You might want to see what’s keeping dinner.”  
  
Handing his journal to Wesley, Giles pointed out the passage he’d been searching for, then turned his own attention to the other book.   
  
“So you did make note of this prior to today.  Have you looked for any other, well, clues, wouldn’t be an improper word, would it?”  Wesley wrote down something else on the papers, using Rupert’s journal as a guide.  
  
“Hhmm?”  Giles didn’t look up from his reading until Oz banged his hand on the table, trying to get the Englishmen’s attention.  “What?”  
  
“Oh, dear.”  Oz was writing furiously on his board, erasing and starting again, when Giles reached out and stayed his hand.  Looking down into the concerned eyes of the werewolf, Giles asked once, “Are you certain it was Angel?”  
  
The only answer he got was the squeak of the marker against the board.   
  
It was enough.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy was crying.  
  
She was on her knees, hunched over the toilet, her stomach clenching hard, bile and the remains of everything she’d eaten that day forcing their way back up her esophagus.  A hiccup escaped her mouth and she groaned softly, trying to force air into her body.  
  
The creak of the door opening behind her was masked by the upsurge of vomit which also explained why she jumped when a damp hand-towel was pressed against her face.  
  
“Breathe, kitten.”  His voice was a welcome sound, his presence solid against her back.  Strong hands slid around her belly and lifted the hair off her neck and cool lips nuzzled behind her right ear.  
  
She leaned into him, letting the small movements of his hands and fingers calm the tempest raging inside her.  From beneath lowered lashes she watched the muscles of his forearm flex and move – the actions lulling her into serenity.  
  
“Do you love me?”  Her whispered question, if it startled him, didn’t show in his movements.  They remained strong and steady, matching her slowing breaths.  
  
“I do.”  The vibrations of his chest deep voice rolled through them both and she settled closer into his embrace.  
  
“How long do you think we’ve been mated?”  Her voice was oh-so-soft, and he could feel when speaking made her belly clench.  
  
“Doesn’t matter.  For-bloody-ever.  A day.  Time doesn’t matter.”  Spike settled his weight, shifting so that she was shielded between his limbs, his body surrounding her, protecting her from the outside world.                  
  
Buffy’s fingers entwined, playing with the rings she wore.  “So nothing can break this, right?”  
  
“Right.  Leastways that’s what the legends all say.”  Trying for a bit of levity, he quipped, “‘Course the legends also mention yours truly.  Used to be Big Bad . . .”  A sigh escaped him and he caught her twisting hands in one of his.  “I love you.  Doesn’t matter what’s going on now with this nonsense.  This wrongness we’re both feelin’.  One thing I do know is that I love you.  Promised you I’d never leave.  That means never.”  
  
Meshing their fingers together he continued, “Claim means ‘m yours and you’re mine.  For always.”  
  
Lifting her hands to his mouth, Spike kissed both palms, folding each hand into a fist.  “Promise.”  
  
Buffy stared down at the fists he’d made, then slipped the ring on the middle finger of her left hand off.  It was white gold or silver with delicate filigree on the exterior, like lace leaves or vines.  Inside was an inscription she couldn’t read.  Before she could stop herself, Buffy pointed it out to him.  “What’s this mean?”  
  
He took the ring from her, mumbled something that sounded like “poesy ring” then stopped.  When he spoke again, Buffy didn’t understand the language, but it didn’t matter because Spike did.  “Eras, es, eris meorum solum amorum aeternum.”  
  
“Meaning?”  
  
Spike shifted so he was looking into her eyes.  “You were, you are, you will be my only love eternally.”  
  
“Oh.”  Buffy stared down at the circle in his hands, her teeth biting at her lower lip.  A watery shimmer covered her vision for a moment and she glanced up at him.  There was so much emotion – his jaw was clenched, his eyes dark and intent, almost midnight blue, blazing into her, reading her soul.    
  
“Yeah.  Oh.”  A slight smile – not a smirk at all, crossed his lips and he leaned closer then pressed his lips against her forehead.  Buffy laid her head on his shoulder, her hand covering his open palm, the ring held tightly between them.    
  
“This so beats the other ring you gave me.”  
  
He chuckled, the sound reverberating against her ear, the movement of his chest forcing her closer to him.  
  
“Do you have any ideas about any of this?”  
  
Spike twisted their hands so that their fingers were clasped, the ring still between their palms.  “Lots.  Not sure any of them might explain all of this.  Got more questions than answers, and more as the night goes on.  Right now ‘m worried why your innards are rebelling and determined to be out.  The rest can wait a bit.”  
  
Buffy made a face, wrinkling her nose and furrowing her brow at his mention of her stomach.  Her thumb brushed over his index finger.  “Can we. . . I dunno what it is.  Could it be part of the wonkyness or is it something else?  And is there any way to tell?”  
  
Spike’s shrug shifted them both and he nudged his nose against her hair.  He sniffed her, then shifted her a bit more in his arms.  “You smell different – like me an’” He did it again, then pulled back a bit.  Shifting their hands, he eased the ring back on her finger then brushed his thumb over the marks on her neck.  “These are fresh – like we renewed the claim – not that it needs it.  Do you trust me?”  
  
They were face to face now and Buffy’s eyes were trained on his, not once wavering.  Her lashes lowered and she whispered, “I think you’re the only one I do trust.”  
  
“Don’t . . .   Christ, Slayer, you. . .” He shook his head, for once words escaping him.  Clearing his throat, Spike took a moment to compose his thoughts.  “Don’t get angry with me kitten, but, I think I need to do this.”  
  
“Do what?  Bite me?”  Buffy watched the look on his face change and she blurted out, “I can feel you, what you’re feeling, almost what you’re thinking and that was pretty clear.  And,” she added almost shyly, “I think I want that too.”  
  
“Right then.  Won’t take much, just enough to know.”  He kissed her forehead then trailed his lips down her hair to the marks on her neck.  His tongue licked over her skin and tingles swept through her nerves.  
  
“Oh. . . oh.”  Her breathy little gasps urged him on and her fingers digging into his forearms caused an answering rumble in his chest.  “Please.”  
  
The second he morphed into game face Buffy shivered, her body knowing what was about to happen, even if her mind wasn’t fully capable of remembering.  His fangs grazed the marks and the shivers increased, edging her closer to him, her hands easing up his arms to reach under the hem of his sleeves.  Latching onto her neck, nipping at the vein pulsing beneath her skin, Spike gently eased into the marks, reopening them.  At the first pull, his eyes flew open wide and the growl emerging from his throat echoed in the small bathroom.  On the second mouthful the growls subsided into chest deep purring, while Buffy clawed at the skin of his shoulders, raising finger-tip sized welts over his skin.  She sighed as he licked closed the punctures, her head pillowed on his strong arm, watching his jaw for his reaction.  
  
From behind hooded eyes he stared at her, a look on his features that she was willing to swear she’d never seen before.  It was feral, possessive, and it reinforced to her that she was still dealing with a master vampire, one who held an enormous power over her life. . . and her heart.  
  
“Spike?”  Her hand reached out to him and he caught her fingers between his teeth.  
  
“Buffy. . . you’re pregnant.”  
  
“I am?”  Fear filled her gaze as she scrambled to understand.  “No, I wouldn’t . . . if. . . cheat, I . . . that’s not me.  I’m not that girl and I wouldn’t do that if we are together.  Spike, you have to believe me.”  Her belly clenched, fear riding high, her heartbeat accelerating, thundering in her ribcage.  “I swear I didn’t.”  
  
He stared at her while she babbled, a blank expression on his face, then as her words reached him, he pulled her close, brushing his lips over her forehead.  “Kitten . . .  Buffy. . .  _Buffy_.“  
  
Her words finally trailed off when his fingers dug into her shoulder, she turned scared eyes to him.  “Dunno how it’s possible, an’ right now, it hardly matters.  It’s mine.”  
  
Relief flooded through her and she slumped in his arms.  “Oh, thank god.”  
  
This time he smiled, ending the tense moment by pulling her against his chest, his strong arms wrapped around her.  “Mine, kitten.  Both of you.”  
  
Insistent knocking and Rupert’s voice from the other side of the door pulled them from the short peace of their moment.  “Buffy?  Spike?  We need to talk.  Oz remembered his attacker was Angel.  And I’ve also found one of my journals.  Can you please come out so we aren’t conversing through the door?”  
  
“Give us a moment.  We’ll be right there.”  
  
Having to settle for that, Rupert snapped his journal closed and walked back into the shop area.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
They were eating pizza, uncaring of his presence just beyond the bright lights of the restaurant.  Angel crouched down, perched on the rooftop of the building opposite, his eyes trained on the two teenagers.  
  
He could taste the anticipation running through his nerve endings.  Time to make his move. . . she knew something was following them.  Despite her seeming unconcern, Angel knew the Slayer’s sister couldn’t be this ignorant.  And it was time.   
  
Time for the Slayer and her pet vampire to know.    
  
Know he was waiting. . . watching.  
  
The two teens got up from the table, heading for the door, both of them laughing and smiling brightly.  
  
A smirk crossed his features and Angel let them cross the street, dropping to the ground soundlessly when they walked past his perch.  
  
 _Time . . ._


	38. The monsters of our childhood

_**Book Two.  
  
Chapter 38.   The monsters of our childhood  
  
There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them.   
    Andre Gide  
  
Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is.  
    German Proverb  
  
He who fears something gives it power over him.   
    Moorish Proverb  
  
It's been said that fear of the unknown   
is an irrational response to the excesses of the imagination.   
But our fear of the everyday, of the lurking stranger   
and the sound of footfalls on the stairs,   
the fear of violent death and the primitive impulse to survive,   
are as frightening as any X-File, as real as the acceptance that it could happen to you.   
    Mulder, X-Files  
  
Hope is ambiguous, but fear is precise.  
Leo Rosten   
  
  
**_  
Faith hung up the phone, confusion swirling in the depths of her dark brown eyes.  Something was up with Giles, he was less clear than usual – she had barely understood what he was saying.  It was almost like they’d been having two or three different conversations.  So it had been a couple of years since she talked to him, she didn’t think the old man had lost it in that amount of time.  
  
Going over everything they’d said, Faith realized it was like her dreams, the messages all jumbled and incoherent until she caught onto the pattern.  _Okay, girl, what’s the friggin pattern?  What was watcher-man saying. . .  And not saying?_  
  
Her hand still on the receiver, Faith closed her eyes and cleared her mind.  _Something’s seriously wrong in SunnyD.  That much I got.  Something else is up and they haven’t figured it out yet.  All righty then._ Forcing her mind to clear once more, she stared at the phone.  The urgency that had been goading her for days notched higher.  There was . . . turning away from the phone, Faith eyed the trussed and tied-up warden.  
  
“Sorry, dude.  Gotta motor.  Duty calls.”  
  
She realized the irony even as she spoke the words, though she pushed it aside.  Snagging the warden’s car keys and emptying his wallet, she smiled, flashing a dimple at the man.  “I’d take you with, but, dude, you’d just slow me down.”  
  
She bent down, smirking as his eyes followed her cleavage, quipping, “Thanks for the ride though” and knocked him out with one blow.  
  
Sauntering through the office doors, Faith headed for the guard’s locker rooms.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
   
Oz and Wesley were trading notes, though it was more like Oz was writing while Wesley questioned him, when Rupert returned to the public area of the shop.  He was stopped short by a small sound coming from his office.  
  
Hesitating beside the open door, Giles spied Anya sitting at his desk, the day’s receipts spread out before her.  Normally this was one of her favorite pastimes, counting the day’s totals, but today, she wasn’t enjoying it.  Her hands were fisted around some bills and her head was bowed, tears streaming from her eyes.  
  
“Anya?  Is it that bad?”  He stepped into the room, concern etched on his features.  
  
She sniffled, wiping her eyes, getting the money all wet.  “No.  It’s fine.  I’m fine.”  
  
“Anya dear, we’ve either lost the shop or. . . what’s wrong?”    
  
Her little laugh ended in a sob.  “We haven’t lost the store and my management of our funds won’t allow that.  It’s not the shop at all.”  
  
“Ah.  Would you tell me anyway what’s troubling you?”  He couldn’t imagine what had her so upset, because nothing ever seemed to faze her, she was always so cheerful.  ‘I don’t like seeing you this upset.”  
  
“I don’t think Xander loves me the way I want him too.”  She put the money down on his desk, turning tear-filled eyes on him.  “He ignores me.  He yells at me.  And I don’t remember why.”  
  
“There, there.  I doubt that’s the way of things.  You’re just reacting to the stress of the day.”  He awkwardly patted her back, unsure of how to help her.  
  
“What stress?  I’m not stressed at all.  I don’t have any stress.”  Anya moved under his arm, putting her head on his chest.  “How come he can’t be more like you?”  
  
There wasn’t anything he could say to that, no phrase or comfort he could come up with to make her feel better.  So he did what his body, instead of his brain, wanted.  Rupert brushed his hand over her hair and pulled her head toward his, sweeping a kiss on her temple, he found himself with an armful of former demon.  Anya wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled through her tears.  Not liking the look of sadness and despair in her whiskey eyes, Rupert threw caution to the wind and kissed her.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Willow laid small kisses over Tara’s shoulder, her small hands cupping around a soft breast, thumb slowly flicking her nipple.  Sliding her body around Tara’s side, she latched onto the nipple, her teeth gently scoring over the puckered flesh.  Her fingers trailed downwards, circling her navel, then dipping lower to play between the folds of Tara’s sex.  
  
Her lover arched up into her hands and mouth while Willow’s mind chanted the litany she’d been repeating to herself throughout the day.  
  
 _This is the way it should be.  
  
I did the right thing.  
  
This is what should be.  Where I should be.  
_  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Yours.”  Buffy’s gaze searched his for any hint of untruth, but Spike’s eyes were clear and steady, bright and intense upon her.  
  
“Not far along I’d guess, but I imagine that’s part of why everything’s off.  The claim wouldn’t allow any mojo to block it and. . .” He stopped speaking when a tear dropped on his hand.  
  
“Kitten?”  
  
“I never thought. . . babies weren’t supposed to happen.  Slayers aren’t . . . I guess I stopped thinking about a normal life a long time ago.   I guess I sort of gave up hope, after being. . .  After Riley. Spike?  How come I can remember stuff like Riley leaving and Mom being dead and fighting Glory, but I can’t remember anything else?”  Buffy clutched at him, panic starting to filter through her.  
  
“My guess is someone’s got some serious mojo working so we’ll forget.”  He got to his feet, pulling her up after him.  Reaching under the sink, Spike pulled out some mouthwash.  “Here, use this.”  
  
Waiting while she did, Spike ran his hand down her back, gliding his arm around her, then splayed his hand over her belly.  His voice sounded in her ear, raising gooseflesh and triggering her nerve endings.  “When this is all sussed out, kitten, we’re gonna celebrate this news.”  
  
She couldn’t see his reflection in the mirror, though she could imagine the look on his face.  When she turned to look at him, Buffy wasn’t disappointed with the guess.  His lips met hers in a searing kiss and Spike threaded his hands through her hair.  He held her close for long moments, reluctant to release her.  
  
“Let’s go see what the Watcher wants.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The Huntsman woke from sleep, eyes unfocused, ears pricked to sounds only he and the hounds under his control could hear.  The first hound growled lowly, waking the others.  
  
His face turned to the east, the Huntsman got to his feet.  
  
“Time is on us, lads.”  
  
His words weren’t necessary, since the hounds too had heard the wind’s whisper and they were at attention, their heads poised, bodies tense and ready to spring.  
  
At the cave’s entrance, the Huntsman stopped.  His hand raised and an eerie whistling filled the night, stilling the air.  
  
As one, the hounds bayed into the night, shuffling and edging forward.  
  
Once more the Huntsman paused, whistled, then let loose the hounds of hell.  
  
Their forms were darker shadows in the night as they sought their prey, gliding on silent padded feet through the streets of the hellmouth.  
  
      
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Angel closed the distance, his strides drawing him nearer and ever nearer to the two oblivious teens.  
  
He could smell their arousal now, so new and unfocused, they couldn’t possibly understand – but he did – _oh, he did_.  
  
Circling around them to meet them head on, Angel wiped his face of any expression.  Best to hide behind his other self until it was too late.  
  
 _Ahhh . . . there they are._  
  
Keeping his voice carefully neutral, Angel stopped in front of the two.  “Hello, Dawn.”  
  
Dawn’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice.  She hesitated, unsure of why he might be in Sunnydale, wary of his presence.  _Angel being around is never of the good._   “Hey, Angel.  Looking for Buffy?”  
  
“Yeah, I came to see her.  She, ah, wasn’t home.”  The lie came easily, but he knew Dawn  hadn’t been home since before nightfall, and it was going on eleven.  “Shouldn’t you be on your way home?”  
  
“We’re heading there now.  Not like you’d know if I had a curfew or anything.”  Dawn got in her dig, which he let slide.  
  
“Dawnie?”  The boy took her hand, pulling it and her closer to him.  
  
“Sorry.  Angel, this is my boyfriend Casey.  Casey, this is my sister’s ex.”  Dawn shrugged, then said despite the alarms going off in her head, “So like she’s probably out, doing that walking thing she does all the time.  You should go look for her.  C’mon, Casey.”  
  
Dawn, tugging Casey behind her, started to move around Angel, who sidestepped to allow her, then caught her arm.  
  
“Yeah, about that.  See, the thing is, I can’t let you.  Go home that is.”  
  
His grip was tight, not allowing her any movement.  
  
“Angel, what’s your deal?  I gotta go home.”  She tried pulling away, but his grip tightened on her, bruising her, fingers digging deeply into her skin.  
  
“Dude, we gotta get home.  My parents are gonna freak if I get in late.”  Casey stepped closer to Dawn, standing between the two of them.  Dawn freed her hand from Casey’s grip, winding her fingers around his upper arm.  Worry for him became paramount, because Casey had no idea what Angel really was.  
  
“Lemme go.  I’ll tell Buffy you’re looking for her.”  Dawn managed to free her arm from Angel’s grasp, starting off toward Revello Drive.  “See ya.”  
  
“Dawn.  I can’t let you go.”  This time he pulled on her hair, fisting it around his hand.  His voice was low, yet the menace was clear.  “ _You_ are my message to your sister.”  
  
“Casey.  Run.”  Dawn ground out, fighting against the pain of her hair being pulled.  “Get to the Magic Box.  Get Buffy.  Or Spike.”  
  
He stared at her for a few seconds, indecision clear on his features.  Her head was almost horizontal now, Angel tugging her closer and closer to him.  Tears sprang to her eyes and Dawn pleaded with her boyfriend.  “Casey.  _Go_ , please.”  
  
Angel grabbed her by the throat.  “Enough talking, Dawnie.”  He glanced at the boy.  “That’s it.  Be a man.  Run while your girlfriend protects you.”  
  
Fighting off Dawn’s struggles, Angel lifted her by the neck, her feet inches from the ground.  “That’s it, Dawn.  Fight me.”  
  
Casey hit him just under his upraised arm, almost knocking him off his feet, loosening his grip around Dawn’s neck.  Grabbing her hand, Casey tugged her after him, his feet already moving.  “C’mon, Dawn, we gotta move.”  
  
She was coughing, trying to draw in breath so she could run, but Dawn couldn’t open her throat to speak, much less scream.  So when Angel once again grabbed her, all the signal Casey got was her being pulled from his hand.  
  
Casey whirled around, looking about for Dawn.  There was a crumpled form a few feet away and Casey ran toward it, recognizing her jacket.  Blood darkened her face and her jacket but she was breathing, because he could hear the harsh gasps rasping from her throat.  “Oh god, Dawnie.  Oh god.”  
  
He knelt down beside her, pushing aside the hair covering her face and nearly threw up.  Long furrows had been raked over her face, splitting open the skin of her cheek.  Gathering her up, Casey tried to get to his feet with her in his arms.  
  
Staggering upright, he nearly dropped her twice before he got twenty feet, yet he tightened his grip on her and set off for Sunnydale General.  He’d call her sister from the hospital.  
  
So focused on Dawn, Casey never realized his every footstep was being followed.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“So what’s the sitch?”  Buffy faced two Watchers, one vampire, one werewolf, and an ex-demon and didn’t feel that was the least bit strange.  
  
“Oz says it was Angel that attacked him.  Wesley’s got a list of what feels off.  And Faith called.”  Giles furrowed his brow, adding, “I realize that none of this makes any sense and I believe that is a large part of our problem.”  
  
Wesley spoke next.  “It appears someone – whether human or demon – attempted some sort of spell.  Somehow the mating bond you and Spike share partially blocked the effects of said spell.  And in doing so, it altered the stability of the entire spell.”  
  
“The problem appears to be there are other events or situations the spellcaster was ignorant of.”  Giles took up the litany.  “And while that shouldn’t normally affect a spell, in this case, those circumstances appear to be triggering our memories of what actually is going on – opposed to what the spell is actually telling us.  Or rather what our altered reality is telling us.”  
  
“So that means?  What exactly?”  Buffy’s head was swimming.  Giving in to her impulse, she pushed Spike back from the table and sat down on his lap, which mirrored his earlier impulse.  
  
Strangely enough, no one else batted an eye.  Anya had already closed the shop and Connor was sleeping quietly in his stroller.  Spike laced his hands around her, then brushed a kiss on her shoulder.  The talk continued and Buffy closed her eyes for a minute and promptly fell asleep.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She ditched the car in south-central Los Angeles, stealing another one more than two miles away.  Faith figured they’d spend a while looking for her in Los Angeles and by the end of the week they’d start looking in Sunnydale for her. _Might not ever stop searching LA, coz this piece of shit is probably stolen also._  
  
That’s what she was hoping for anyway.  
  
Every time she passed a cop she tensed up, her entire body on wild alert.  _Gotta chill.  So far, so good.  Just gotta keep my cool.  
_  
Faith drove through the night, anxiety keeping her adrenaline high.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Angel watched the boy falter again.  
  
Safety and the hospital weren’t that far away – but he wasn’t going to let them reach the false sanctuary.  
  
“You’re a brave boy.  Carrying a bleeding girl through the streets of the hellmouth with who knows what kinds of demons following you.”  Angel’s tone was conversational, though it still made the hair on the back of Casey’s neck stand up.  
  
“What the fuck?  Dude, get the hell away from us.”  Casey kept walking, trying to ignore the looming figure matching him step for step.  
  
“Wow.  That’s no way to greet the guy who’s been watching your back for the last half hour.”  Angel shook his head.  “I’m really disappointed.”  
  
“Look, dude, I don’t know who you are and I don’t really care.  You hurt my girlfriend.  So just leave us alone.”  Casey’s tone was a mix between belligerent bravado and rising fear.  Dawn started stirring, soft whimpers sounding in the air and Casey tried picking up his pace, but his arms and back weren’t strong enough to carry Dawn’s inert form for so long and he was tiring.  He faltered and Angel snickered.  
  
“You’re going to drop her.  There’s no way you’re going to make it to the hospital.  Face it, boy, you just aren’t strong enough.”  The grin broadened and Angel laughed when Casey stumbled.  
  
“Such a foolish brave boy.  Too bad you won’t ever be a man.”  
  
Angel struck, knocked Dawn from his hands, the blow rocking Casey nearly off his feet, splitting his lip and snapping his head back.  
  
Casey reeled, shaking his head.  “What the _fuck_?  _What_ is your problem?”  
  
“Your girl is my problem.  Her existence and her sister’s.”  Angel circled round him, kicking Dawn in the side as he moved around her.    
  
Casey shouted, then raced back to Dawn’s side, dropping to his knees.  “You’re a sick fuck, beating on girls.”  
  
He tried lifting her in his arms, but the hit Angel had given him hurt more than he’d thought.  He watched the bigger man warily, as he tried instead to wake up Dawn.  “C’mon, Dawnie, wake up, gotta help me here.”  
  
“You’re calling me sick, boy?  What do you call a guy who hides behind his girl?  I’d call him a pussy. . . weak. . . pathetic.”  
  
Faster than he could follow, Angel punched Casey twice, knocking his head back and opening a second cut over his right eye.  
  
The teenager stumbled again to his feet, once he realized that Dawn was coming too.  He needed to protect her – and if that meant getting his ass kicked, well, he’d recover.  “You always pick on guys smaller than you?”  
  
Hiding her movements from Angel, Dawn wiped away the blood from her face and tried not to make any noise.  A thought surfaced through the pain, one that she didn’t question, just followed.  Slipping her hand into her jacket, Dawn located her cell phone and rolling over, shielded it from view.  Punching in a sequence of numbers – ones she had no idea what they meant or why – Dawn closed the phone, left it on the ground and slowly got to her feet.  
  
“Leave _him_ alone, Angel.  He doesn’t know.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike was getting Buffy comfortable on the training room couch while the others were doing more research in the other room when more than one cell phone began chirping.  
  
Almost immediately, some stopped, leaving only two still beeping and Spike was searching the duster’s pockets since one source appeared to be there when Wesley’s voice reached him.  
  
“Spike.  Dawn’s in trouble.”  
  
“What?  How do you know?”  He looked up sharply, as his free hand began shaking Buffy awake.  “Kitten, Niblet’s in trouble, wake up.”  
  
“The cell phones.  Her name popped up on the caller ID and her approximate location, together with what Rupert believes is a ‘code red’.”  Wesley was grabbing weapons as he talked, tossing Spike a sword and then he turned toward the doorway.  
  
“Buffy, wake up now.”  Spike grabbed his duster and shrugged it on.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  She peered at him through sleepy eyes.  
  
“Watchers say Dawn’s in trouble.  Came through on the cell phones.”  He held out a hand, helping her to her feet.  
  
“Where is she?”  Buffy snagged the sword from him, speaking as she walked through the doorway, her mind racing with endless possibilities, none of them good.


	39. Lambs for the slaughter

**_Book Two.  
  
Chapter 39.  Lambs for the slaughter  
  
  
A mother's arms are strong when her child is in danger.   
    Dead Man Walking, 1995  
  
Do not stand in a place of   
danger trusting in miracles.   
    Arabian Proverb   
  
I came to believe it not true that "the   
coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave man   
only one." I think it is the other way around:   
It is the brave who die a thousand deaths.  
For it is imagination, and not just conscience,   
which doth make cowards of us all. Those   
who do not know fear are not truly brave.  
    Leo Rosten  
  
  
Death is everywhere   
There are flies on the windscreen   
For a start   
Reminding us   
We could be torn apart   
Tonight   
  
Death is everywhere   
There are lambs for the slaughter   
Waiting to die   
And I can sense   
The hours slipping by   
Tonight   
    Depeche Mode, Fly on the Windscreen from the album Black Celebration, 1986   
_**  
  
  
  
They had no idea what the situation might be with Dawn and why she might be in trouble.  None of them knew and, as they walked through the streets of downtown Sunnydale, none of them gave those ideas voice.  
  
It didn’t take long for Buffy and Spike to outdistance Wesley, fear goading both of them onward.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Halfway between Los Angeles and Sunnydale, Faith’s nerves were so strung that she couldn’t continue driving without releasing some of the tension coursing through her.  The music was blaring, her foot heavy on the pedal and it still didn’t ease the humming through her entire body.  Spying the next exit on US 5, Faith cut across three lanes of traffic and headed for the off-ramp.    
  
Knowing full well that she wouldn’t run into any demons, or if she did, they would be more of the peaceful kind, Faith headed for the first bar she found.  _More than one way to work off the tension.  
_  
Checking out her face in the review mirror, she grimaced.  No makeup, stolen clothes and yet she was still hotter than half the chicks out there.   So what she wasn’t California-blond or tall and willowy.  She had tits to make most men drool and an ass to please the rest.  It was enough to get her in the door without having to pay the cover charge and more than enough to get her the first two rounds of drinks; if she had wanted to play, there were plenty of takers.  She wasn’t there to play.  None of the boys in the bar could scratch that itch anyway.  
  
 _Nope._   Nothing short of a real walk on the dark side would get rid of that one.  
  
What she needed was something more physical.    
  
She needed to slay.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Determined not to show him any weakness, knowing it could possibly be fatal, Dawn did not – refused – to give into the lassitude creeping through her.  _This isn’t Angel_ , her mind screamed, _this is your own personal nightmare_.  With a more than credible imitation of her father’s growl, Dawn ground out, “Get away from him, Angel, he doesn’t. . . he’s not part of this.”  
  
With a smirk, Angel ignored her, his fist connecting to the side of Casey’s head.  “Gee, Dawnie, I think he’s part of this because he’s with you.”  
  
“He _doesn’t_ know!”  The shriek had been building since he’d grabbed hold of her arm finally rang through the night, echoing off the buildings, coming back around to blast them.  
  
Casey fell, blood spouting from his mouth and his head thunked heavily against the pavement.  He groaned, rolling over, struggling to get back on his feet.  Somehow Casey managed to get to all fours and he scrabbled away when Angel kicked him hard in the side, as Dawn tackled into Angel, throwing the vampire completely off balance and knocking him down.  
  
He was up, springing to his feet before Dawn could get to Casey, and he grabbed her arm, pulling her toward him.  The slap he delivered to her face nearly knocked her back and she fought to stay on her feet, giving Casey enough time to get to his.    
  
The scent of blood was heavy in the air; the panting breaths of the humans, panic-filled and scared roused his bloodlust.  “Can’t wait to get a taste of you, little girl. . . can’t _wait_ to get close to you.”

   
Angel’s snicker ended in a deep throated chuckle, raising the hairs on the back of Dawn’s neck.  He stalked toward the two of them, his grin splitting his normally expressionless features and Dawn knew they had little chance of getting away from him.  She might be able to survive. . . but Casey – Casey didn’t know about vampires and demons and he would . . . she wasn’t going to let him die along with her.  She was about to grab his hand, when he fell to his knees beside her, his strength gone.    
  
“Casey, get up, c’mon, get _up_!”  Dawn wrapped her hands around his upper arm, pulling him vainly.  She didn’t dare look down at him, afraid if she took her eyes off the vampire, he’d gut them both.  

  
“Too late.  He can’t go on.  What will you do now?”  She could feel the cool breath the vampire used to speak, his taller, broader form looming over her.  “Gonna save the boy?  Hhhmmm?”  
  
Encircling her neck with his thick fingers, Angel once more lifted her off her feet, uncaring of her ineffectual kicking.  “I’m feeling kind of thirsty . . . and I know just the thing I need. Don’t you?“  

  
His face morphed, fangs and brow ridges prominent.  Unlike other victims, Dawn didn’t scream, refusing to give him the satisfaction.  _I’ve been here before . . . he didn’t scare me then and I’m not gonna let him scare me now.   Just have to hold on until Spike or Buffy gets here.   Gotta give Casey a chance to get away.  
  
Just have to hold on._  
  
She knew, despite not knowing how or why she couldn’t remember, the code she’d punched into her cell phone was a message sent out to the Scoobies and to Spike.  All she had to do was just survive.     
Unable to move her head, Dawn couldn’t see what Casey was doing behind her and she knew –  hoped –  her struggles gave him more time to escape.  She kept clawing at Angel’s hands, her nails drawing his blood to the surface, also serving to keep his fangs from sinking into her neck.  
  
The pressure of his fingers closing around her throat didn’t ease and now breathing was becoming an issue.  Angel’s face loomed closer, fetid breath wafting over her face and Dawn’s vision began to swim.  Panting heavily for air, she scratched at his fingers and the last thing she saw was Casey’s body slamming into Angel’s side before everything went black.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike started to outdistance her and for once Buffy didn’t put on a burst of speed just to prove she was better or faster or stronger than him.  Instead, she called out, and before she knew it, he was back at her side.  
  
“Kitten?”  
  
“Promise me you’ll be careful.”  Some sixth sense – or a remnant of a ragged memory – told her they’d been very close to losing each other in the misty recent past of lost memories.  
  
His pace had slowed, matching hers and deftly switching his weapon from one hand to the other, Spike caught her left hand up, sweeping it toward his lips.  Ghosting a kiss over the back, he said, “Was about to tell you the same, love.  Got our sprog there, don’t do anythin’ foolish, yeah?”  
  
Without turning his head, Spike knew that mulish look came over her features, the one he almost hated.  “Sunshine.  Don’t want anything to hurt you.  Couldn’t live with myself if it did.”  He paused, waiting for the look to clear.  When it appeared she was going to get more stubborn, Spike halted, then pulled her into his arms.  “I love you.  Don’t wanna lose you.  Jus’ promise me you’ll be careful.”  
  
She was poised to argue with him.  She really was.  But when Buffy glanced up at his features, all thought of confronting him fled.  His eyes – wavering between feline amber and human blue stalled her words.  The ferocity and depth of emotion was humbling.  He felt so much. . . “My promise for yours,” was all she was capable for uttering.  
  
“Already done, kitten.”  He started off in the direction of Dawn’s last known location, his words resolute.  “Time to rescue Niblet.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Casey plowed into Angel’s side, with as much force as his battered body would allow, his shoulder hitting the bigger man just under his upraised arm.  The arm he had been using to slowly strangle Casey’s girlfriend.  
  
The blow nearly knocked the teen out, head ringing and ears popping; Casey knew he heard something crunch hard on impact.  He had no way of telling, though, if it had been his own bones or the sicko’s that gave under the pressure. Every inch of him was already in pain, one more body part screaming in agony didn’t matter.  He barely kept to his feet, some instinct telling him their only chance lay in staying upright – no matter what happened.  Casey’s knowledge and willpower didn’t help, because his legs crumpled and he would have fallen if not for the weak arms suddenly wrapped around his torso.  
  
Dawn’s voice was husky, painful to hear, though in that moment, the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.  Hope flared within him, bolstering his courage.  “C’mon, Casey, we gotta go.”  
  
She slipped under his shoulder, propping him up, her desperation to get away easily communicated.  

  
“Dawnie.”  He knew what he wanted to say, yet the words wouldn’t force themselves out.  
  
“I _know_ , Casey.”  She paused, then whispered, “Me too.  _A lot_.”    
  
They had barely gone three steps when Angel’s dark form loomed in front of them.  
  
“Thought I told you – you aren’t going anywhere.”  
  
Dawn stiffened beside Casey, her back almost rigid beneath his arm.  “Screw you . . .  Angelus.  We got your message and hey, consider it already delivered.  I’ll make sure Buffy gets it.”  
  
“See, here’s where we differ.”  Angel stepped closer, forcing the teens to give ground.  “Your sister and her pet vampire stole something of mine.  I’m just taking something back.”  
  
From somewhere deep inside his broken body, Casey found a deeper well, a source – a part of himself he’d never known he possessed.  While Dawn faltered beside him, blanching visibly at the words flung at them, Casey’s legs strengthened and his stance miraculously widened.  Instead of continuing to cower in front of the psychotic man, he took a step forward, crowding him.  
  
When Angel stepped back, more in surprise than anything else, Casey moved again.  Shielding Dawn now, he waited, knowing this was the only thing he could do.  Belying the words flung at him earlier, Casey knew the longer he stood his ground, the more man he was.  
  
Angel growled at the defiance.  Shaking off his human features, the vampire snarled, gnashing his teeth and stepped closer to the boy.  Though he drew in a deep breath, Casey didn’t flinch, didn’t back down.  Didn’t even look away when he whispered his girlfriend’s name, uttering the words he’d been unable to say moments before.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The air was calm, no wind, no sounds to disturb their hunt and yet their prey was eluding them.  No sight nor sound, nor scent teased their preternatural sense of smell. . . it was as if the prey had disappeared, dissipated into thin air.    
  
Expecting to find traces of their prey, the Huntsman had directed his spectral hounds in that direction, only to have them balking and howling their displeasure into the quiet night.  
  
Younger, newer hounds were circling their elders, baying and yipping in question, while the alpha male sniffed the air, searching for some ephemeral trace of the betrayer.   
  
The red-eyed black hound caught the scent, hours old, of magicks gone awry, wielded by one without care or thought of consequences or compassion.   The hackles on his neck rose, and he bayed his find, echoing through the still, silent night, reverberating off the trees and brush around them.    
  
The others fell in behind him as he loped off, ground eating strides lengthening as the scent grew stronger.  His mate, the smaller, sleeker red-spotted black hound raced behind him, then broke off, veering toward the right, her yowls of warning alerting the pack to her departure.    
  
The Huntsman watched her go, a grim smile playing about his thin lips.    
  
Each hound knew their place, each knew their task.   One by one, they split off from the pack, until the alpha male was alone, his nose intent on the location of the traitor, while the others cut off all avenues of escape.   
  
_Time it is, lads.  
  
Ar hyn o bryd . . . o fewn hwn lle . . . pechodau dcaw ateb dros. . . . _  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Faith slammed back another shot of tequila – her fourth – realizing her idea to stop wasn’t working at all.  _Mission Viejo is not a happening place.  Well, not the kind of place I’m looking for, anyway._  
  
Brushing off the attentive college boys who’d been supplying her with drinks, she headed for the door.  
  
 _Not working. . . gotta get the hell outta here.  Place is way too whitebread.  
_  
Without breaking stride, Faith elbowed her way through the wall of admirers and by the time she hit the bar’s main door, she was running.  
  
 _Shit’s about to go down and what the fuck am I doing?  I’m here all stupid like, trying to work off the nerves.  
  
Not happening.  Not gonna make the same mistakes all over again._  
  
Tires squealing and heart pounding in time to the music blaring, Faith roared onto the highway, this time focused and determined to ignore her internal distractions.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Giving Casey’s hand one last squeeze, Dawn let go, then stepped behind him.  
  
The growl erupted from the vampire standing before them sounded low and menacing, breaking through the night.  Neither teen flinched, neither one moved.  Almost slowly, Angel drew back his hand, preparing to strike the boy in front of him, when Casey once more did the unexpected.  
  
He laughed.  
  
As his laughter rang in counterpoint to the vampire’s snarls, Casey added his voice.  “You’re nothing but a bully.  Gotta beat on little girls and guys smaller than you.  Don’t you ever fight against someone your own size?”  
  
Angel reeled back as if struck, shifting out of game face.  The human’s response was so unexpected – as unexpected as the punch the boy threw at his nose.  
  
This time, there was no mistaking what broke on whom.  
  
Blood streaming from his broken nose, Angel roared his anger at the heavens, then turned amber eyes on the two.  Wasting no more of his energy on words, Angel smacked an open hand across the boy’s face, grinning as another cut was opened up under his left eye.  Not giving him any more chances to recover his bravado, Angel raked his hand down the side of Casey’s neck, opening a fairly shallow cut on his rib cage from collar bone to navel.  Dawn screamed, flying at Angel in a desperate attempt to distract the vampire, but he just batted her away, knocking her across a park bench.  
  
As incredible as it seemed, Casey stood his ground, even attempted to fight back.  Dawn scrambled to her feet, trying to get between the two males when Angel’s claws ripped open her jacket and shirt, baring a breast.  Angel grabbed her then, his hand encircling the fleshy globe.  “When his blood is spilled, Dawnie, I’m gonna take you over his dying flesh and make you suck me off.  Gonna strip you bare and fuck you raw.”  
  
Casey moved then, his hands clasped together in a double fist and he swung at Angel’s jaw, once more knocking him away from Dawn.  
  
With a growl, Angel whirled on the boy and before Dawn could gather herself to help him, Angel dug his fingers deeply into Casey’s throat and ripped.  
  
Screams filled the night, in one long continuous howl, pain and despair marking the dark skies.  
  
From two sides, blond blurs raced toward the frozen figures, converging on the tall vampire and his victims.  
                  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike heard the sounds of fighting before she did and he raced forward, leaving Buffy behind.  
  
He pulled up short when Casey’s double fist rocked the vampire, then sprang into a sprint, desperate to reach them before Angel could move in on the boy.  
  
He was too late.  
  
Casey’s life’s blood was already covering Dawn when Spike ran up and tapped the side of Angel’s head with his fist.  
  
Dawn was screaming.  
  
Buffy’s ears recognized that sound and she streaked toward her sister, her brain not registering the presence of two people now battling Angel.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Kirsten knew she was too late to save Casey.  _Dammit.  Should have come sooner.  Dammit._  
  
Putting on an inhuman burst of speed, Kirsten slammed into Angel’s back as Spike unleashed a blow that sent the other vampire ass over teacup, rolling back over Kirsten’s bowed back.  
  
Dawn, galvanized by Casey’s body hitting the ground, dropped to her knees and crawled forward.   
  
“Casey.  Oh, my god. . . _Casey_.  Please don’t die. . . _please_. . .  Oh, please, don’t.”  Tears fell onto the gaping wound at his throat, as Buffy leaned over her sister, trying to pull her away from her boyfriend’s body.  
  
The fight between the other three intensified and Angel, not holding back, lifted Kirsten off the ground and heaved her in the air, toward a tree.  Using her own momentum, Kirsten unfurled her legs, ran up the tree trunk, pushed off, back flipping up and over the two vampires.  
  
Spike goggled at her for a few precious seconds, then bore the brunt of Angel’s reminder of their fight.  
  
“C’mon, boy, this the best you’ve got?”  Angel tried taunting him, but Spike grim-facedly ignored him.  
  
Wesley ran into the small park, his eyes focused on where Dawn and Buffy were huddled over the battered form of Dawn’s boyfriend.  The growls of the two master vampires were increasing in volume, the force of their blows growing stronger.  
  
Spike swiped a hand over his split lip, his eyes steady on Angel as the older vampire advanced on him, and he grinned in anticipation.  “C’mon, gramps, not fighting little kiddies now, got the real thing.”  
  
Kirsten hovered just beyond the two, watching them both warily, her hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword Spike had dropped.  She was positioned between the vampires and the others, almost like a secondary line of defense in case Angel got past Spike.  Angel took a wild swing at Spike, who ducked out of the path of his fist and then himself struck back at Angel.   The distinctive sound of Spike’s chuckle filled the air when Angel roared out in pain as his back hit the tree.    
  
“Spike?”  
  
The sound of Buffy’s voice distracted him and the blond vampire turned away from his elder, his eyes searching out his mate.  
  
“Spike, Dawnie’s bleeding.”  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Wesley checked Casey for any sign of life as Buffy cradled Dawn from behind.  Catching the Slayer’s eye, the former Watcher shook his head.  The noise of the fight occurring behind them was distant, almost unreal, as if the area around Casey’s body were encased in a bubble.  Dawn was on her knees, one hand shaking Casey’s shoulder, the other running through his matted hair.  Sobs caught in her throat, a chant of the boy’s name streaming from her mouth.  From behind, Buffy had one arm wrapped around Dawn at the shoulder, holding her up and away from all the blood.         
                                                   
“No. . . no. . . please . . . _Casey, please get up_.”  Dawn raised wild eyes toward Wesley, grief swimming alongside her own pain.  She stared at him, unwillingly finding the truth written on his face.  “No!  Not dead. . . no! _**No!**_   Not dead!”  
  
Fighting free of her sister’s hold, Dawn threw herself at Casey’s body, laying her head next to the gaping neck wound.  “Please live. . . _please_. . . _please, Casey_.”  
  
Tears spilling down her own cheeks, Buffy pulled Dawn up, holding her against her chest, running hands over her shaking body.  Dawn collapsed against her, tears and blood staining her clothing.  “Shhhhhh, Dawnie, I’ve got you.”  
  
Incoherent mumblings interspersed with shuddering sobs wrenched themselves from Dawn’s abused throat.  Wesley shared another look with Buffy, after which he got to his feet, his cell phone out before he was ten feet away.  
  
The fight raged on and Buffy watched with a detached eye as neither vampire gained an edge.  There was a small blonde girl watching them also, something Buffy found very strange.  She couldn’t see her face full-on, though something about the girl’s profile struck a chord within the slayer.  
  
Wesley’s hand touched her shoulder and Buffy glanced up to look at him.  “Ambulance is on its way.”  
  
She was about to speak when Dawn’s shudders increased, her entire body shaking.  Trying to hold her close, Buffy struggled with her sister’s longer limbs, unable to get control.  The furrows on Dawn’s face and breast started bleeding more heavily and Buffy instinctually called out for her mate.  “Spike?”  
  
There was a pause, and without looking toward where Spike battled Angel, she knew she had her vampire’s attention.  “Spike, Dawnie’s bleeding.”  
  
The not so distant wail of sirens bounced off the air and Buffy stiffened.  _This is not good._   One handed, she shook Dawn, “C’mon, you, cops are coming.  Casey. . . c’mon, Dawnie, get to your feet.”  
  
Beyond answering, grief and pain both white hot, Dawn sobbed harder, the tremors increasing. Giving one last cry, she slumped forward, limp and unconscious.    
  
“Spike!”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
                 
  
His name sounded in the air – this time there was no way of ignoring the fear and concern in Buffy’s voice.  The sound of it gave Angel the break he’d been waiting for, Spike’s attention diverted.  
  
When the younger vampire turned his head, Angel slid back into the shadows, escaping one more time.  
  
“Spike!  Oh god!”  
  
The rising panic flooded through him and Spike whirled on his heel, moving toward where his girls were.  Two steps had him facing the unknown blond girl and grabbing hold of her wrist, Spike dragged her after him.  “C’mon, you.  Need some answers.”  
  
He didn’t ease his hold on her until they reached Buffy and Dawn.  “Buffy?”  
  
“She’s hurt. . . bleeding. . .  Casey’s. . .” Tears choked her, forcing her to silence.  
  
“Boy’s gone.  Nothing to be done for him.”  Leaning down, Spike gathered the teenager into his arms.  “Need to get Platelet here to hospital.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Welsh translation is mine own, so all errors there belong to me. Title is from a song from Depeche Mode (and is in itself a paraphrase of a biblical quote)


	40. Grief fades in and out

**_Book Two.  
  
Chapter 40.  Grief fades in and out  
  
If grief could burn out  
Like a sunken coal   
The heart would rest quiet   
The unrent soul   
Be as still as a veil   
But I have watched all night   
The fire grow silent   
The grey ash soft   
And I stir the stubborn flint   
The flames have left   
And the bereft   
Heart lies impotent   
    Phillip Larkin, Grief  
  
Like love, grief fades in and out.   
    Mason Cooley City Aphorisms, Ninth Selection   
  
Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak  
Whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.   
    Macbeth, act iv, sc. iii    
  
Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens.   
    J.R.R. Tolkien_**  
  
  
  
  
Faith ditched the second stolen car at the next truck stop exit, hitching a ride with a trucker who was going past Sunnydale.  
  
The truck stop was big enough and busy enough that it would probably take the cops a while to figure out her direction; although the way her luck usually ran, she’d get a smart cop who’d check in with Buffy.  
  
 _Doesn’t matter.  I’m still going.  Watcher-man will think of something after I get there.  Just gotta figure out what’s what.  
_  
Ignoring the trucker’s attempts to make conversation, Faith closed her eyes and tried once more to make some sense on the conversation that had started this whole crazy night.  
  
 _What wasn’t Giles saying?  He’d never once mentioned Angel, but he said Wesley was with him. What’s up with that?_  
  
Walking down the interstate’s off-ramp, Faith scanned the sights before her.  _Sleepy little SunnyD.  Home sweet home.  Somewhere out there. . . all sorts of baddies are waiting for a fight._  
  
Breaking into a run, Faith headed right for Revello Drive.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
With Dawn cradled in his arms, Spike motioned for the others to follow him.  “Gotta get her to hospital.”  
  
He looked around, his eyes focusing on the only unknown in their company.  “Who’re you,  pet?”  
  
Not exactly using a welcoming tone, Spike also didn’t sound too wary.  He’d seen her fight, land a few blows on Angelus and was willing to wait for her explanation before he reacted.  
  
“My name’s Kirsten. “ She wouldn’t look at him, which Spike found odd, but he wasn’t watching too closely.  
  
“Where did you learn those moves?”  Buffy was very curious, with her eyes trained on the girl, she hadn’t missed the hesitation before she answered.  Nor did she miss the sideways look at Spike.  
  
“Ah. . . my dad.   He’s a . . . fight instructor.”  The hesitation was obvious.  
  
Spike was about to question her further when Dawn started stirring.  “Conversation’s not done, pet.  Don’t disappear on us either.”  
  
The threat was there and Kirsten, knowing she was busted, just said, “Yes, sir.”  
  
Which would have made him snicker but it was said too earnestly – and with enough deference –  for that.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
His head was buzzing, white noise masking every other sound.  In his restless sleep, his brain didn’t register the continuous beeps; neither the quiet presence of the bot nor the unobtrusive nurses disturbed his slumber.  
  
Xander’s head slumped forward, his body unconsciously seeking a more comfortable position, hitting the edge of Cordelia’s bed.  
  
The bot powered down, self-adjusting to the after midnight rhythms of the hospital.  
  
All was quiet on the fourth floor.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Her wails of grief bounced against the walls of the small room, searching for release from  containment.  Emergency room personnel shied away from the sounds and from the man who was pacing in front of the door holding the young girl.  
  
Spike growled, menacing and deep, at anyone venturing too closely out of curiosity.  He could hear what the others couldn’t, the low soft tones of the Slayer as she tried to calm her sister, and the increasing desperation in Buffy’s tone.  
  
Wesley was out in the waiting area with the other girl, waiting for Rupert and Anya to arrive with the baby.  Spike glared at the short, kind of round woman hurrying in his direction, and was surprised when she just shushed him.  
  
“Just gonna give her something to calm her down, then Dr. Thomas will stitch her up.  I promise, Spike, you’ll be able to take her home before daybreak.”  
  
“Wait.  You know me?”  Spike stepped out of her way, but put a restraining hand on her arm.  
  
“Of course I do.  You’re Buffy’s mate.”  She paused, watching his reaction, continuing over Dawn’s cries, “Let me go in.  She really needs this.”  
  
This time Spike let her go.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Getting Dawn to the hospital was easier than getting her inside.  Once she’d woken up, she had done nothing but fight.  Her tears and shrieks flowed freely and in her grief, she swung her hands wildly, catching Spike’s chin more than once.  
  
With one look at her bleeding face and wild state, the emergency room personnel had waived them on, more than one of them recognizing both Buffy and Spike.  The room was  all the way in the back, used only when the rest of the emergency room was hopping, and very close to the basement.  
  
Spike carried the struggling teen inside the room, only retreating when Dawn’s screams became too much for his hearing.  Unfortunately, that left Buffy alone with her.  
  
Dawn was shrieking incoherently with the only recognizable word her boyfriend’s name.  Buffy couldn’t get near her, every time she made an attempt, Dawn lashed out physically.  She was about to give up and get Spike when the door opened and a kindly looking nurse strolled in.  
  
“Dawn?  I’m going to give you something for the pain.”  The roundish woman approached the gurney, watching the teen warily.  
  
“No.  Go away.”  
  
“Sorry, sweetie, can’t do that.  Give me your arm.”      
  
“ _Go **away**_.”  Dawn growled at her.  
  
The woman clucked her teeth.  “Sweetie, you don’t scare me.  I’ve got a ten year old werewolf at home.  Now give me your arm.”  
  
The volume grew.  “I said _go away_.”  
  
“We can do this easy or hard.  Easy is you giving me your arm and we’re done.”  She paused for a second, smiled at a gaping Buffy, then said, “Hard is me having the orderlies come in, strap you down and then you get the shot.”  Once more she paused.  “Doesn’t matter much to me, because either way it’s gonna happen.”  
  
Dawn didn’t say anything for long moments – until she looked up and flinched away from the steely look in the nurse’s eyes.  “Fine.  Do it.  Not like I care.”  
  
Grudgingly she held out her arm.  
  
Maureen Osborne stepped closer and administered the sedative that would calm Dawn’s nerves.  
                                      
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The alpha male halted, his nose aimed at the ground, his back stiff and unbowed, searching once more for traces of the traitor.    
  
The Huntsman watched as the hound moved silently through the night.  
  
He bayed once, sending a signal out to the rest of his pack and the Huntsman could feel them all closing in, and yet, as intuitive as his canine charges, the Huntsman could sense a split in the scent. Some break, something that wasn’t right.  Some ephemeral scent of wrongness, almost as if there were two traitors.   
  
The Huntsman strode down the street, trailing the alpha hound, as they neared the traitor’s refuge, the alpha paused, waiting for the rest of his pack to surround the house. . .   
  
Every window was dark.   
  
There was no sign of life.   
  
The alpha sat back on his haunches, his eyes on the house, waiting.   
  
Waiting . . .  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She was numb.  
  
Blood and tears were drying in strips down her face, stinging the cuts Angel had put there.  
  
 _Doesn’t hurt anymore.  
  
Nothing hurts anymore._  
  
There was nothing but ache where her heart used to be.  
  
The pain was . . . cottony.  Wooly . . . not real.  _Whatever she shot me with really freaking works, coz I’m not feeling anything.  
_  
She was noodlely.  Rubbery.  
  
 _Don’t feel real in my own skin.  
  
Wanna just lie down.  Tired.  Wanna. . . no more . . . don’t wanna feel.  
  
Casey._  
  
Dawn couldn’t muster up any more tears.  They were dried up and gone, disappearing the instant the sedatives hit her system.  
  
 _No tears.  Can’t cry.  She took away my tears.  
  
Mommy. . . want my mommy.  Where’s Daddy?  Mommy get Daddy . . . wanna wear his coat.  Makes me feel all safe.  
  
Mommy?  Please get Daddy.  
  
Need my Daddy._  
  
Buffy watched as Dawn crumpled onto the gurney, her voice sounding more and more childlike.  Dawn was unaware her mental ramblings weren’t; Buffy could hear every single word.  
  
The emotion broke through her inertia and Buffy bolted for the door.  Finding Spike the minute it was opened, since he was leaning against the opposite wall, she motioned him in.  
  
“Want my Daddy.  Will he hold me like he did when you were gone, Mom?  Don’t want anyone else dying on me.  I’m all wrong.  It’s all my fault.  Glory and Tara and the knights, Buffy-Mommy died and it should have been me. . . and now Casey.”  Dawn’s voice pitched and halted, a bare whisper of sound.  
  
“Hurts . . .  Mommy?”  Dawn picked up her head, her blurry eyes focusing on the two figures in the room with her.  “Daddy’s here.  I love you, Daddy.”  
  
Tears were sliding down Buffy’s face and, as she stole a glance up at Spike, she could see them pooling in his eyes also.  The two blonds shared a look, neither one saying a word.  Spike crossed the short distance to where Dawn lay, his arms shrugging out of his duster.  Laying it over the babbling girl, Spike smoothed her hair away from her face.  
  
“Real daddies are better than fake ones.”  
  
Spike didn’t stop touching her, letting her grab his free hand and tug it to her, his eyes never leaving Dawn’s.  “Monks made you my Daddy, is that why you love me?”  
  
“No, sweetness, I loved you before they made you mine.”  He had no clue what she was rambling on about, at least he didn’t think so, but he knew she was upset and there was no point in making it worse.  
  
“All I do is destroy.  Glory said so.  Everyone dies because of me.  I’m no good.”  Dawn rocked into their clasped hands, the tears pouring forth again.  “My fault.  All my fault.  Casey’s dead . . . why Daddy?  I did it.  My fault.”  
  
He couldn’t let her think that – not for one second.  “Oh, Sweet Bit, no.  Not your fault.  None of it.  Shush now.”  
  
“Yes it is. . . they made me and all I do is destroy.  It’s all my fault.”  
  
Disregarding her injuries, Spike lifted her from the gurney into his arms, holding her weeping form against his chest.  Collapsing onto a rolling stool, Spike held on, crooning softly while Buffy brushed her hand over Dawn’s hair and down her shoulder.  
  
Motioning Buffy between the examining table and the gurney, Spike said, “Push it there, kitten.”  
  
Understanding him, Buffy did so, locking the gurney in place.  Somehow the two of them got Dawn up on the examining table sandwiched between them, with the two girls covered by his duster.  Still babbling, every word like a knife in his gut, Dawn was unaware she was still crying.  Her hands were clutched around his tee-shirt, fisting it as shivers rolled through her body.  He guessed she was going into shock but he couldn’t keep her warm – that was for Buffy to do and he could feel the heat from her smaller form radiating outward.  
  
Dawn’s head was pillowed over his right arm, and with his left, Spike reached for Buffy.  His fingers found hers curved around Dawn’s waist, and he laced them together.  A low rumble built in his chest, rolling like soft distant thunder, comforting them all.    
  
“Hush now, Sweets. . . Daddy’s got you.  No more tears.”  
  
“He’s dead. . . Spike, he’s dead and it’s all my fault and . . . I’m just wrong.  I wish I was dead.”  
  
“No, baby. . . don’t say that.  None of this is your fault.  None.”  
  
The sound of Buffy’s tears reached him as her grip tightened around his fingers.  Her voice, nearly as brokenhearted as Dawn’s sounded along with his.  “No, Dawnie. . . you aren’t . . . not your fault.  None of this. . .  Please, sweetie. . .”  
  
“My fault . . . all my fault.”    
  
She just kept repeating it over and over, until finally the exhaustion and sedative worked and Dawn fell asleep.    
  
Neither of the other two moved, holding her still and safe in the protective circle of their arms.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The minute hospital personnel had waived them through, Wesley headed back out the door to call Rupert at the shop, to let him know what had happened.  
  
It wasn’t until he wandered back inside that Wesley realized he’d left the girl alone, unattended and instantly regretted that when he didn’t see her sitting in the waiting area.  Cursing himself for his small blunder, Wesley sat in the main waiting area facing the doors, so he could watch everything coming in and out of the emergency room.  He was caught off guard, though, when a soft voice sounded from the chair to his right.  “Hey.”  
  
“I thought you’d run out.”  He sat up, leaning his elbows on the chair arms, looking down at the young girl sitting next to him.  
  
“Spike said not to go.”  She shrugged, as if that explained it all.  
  
And it did, only if you knew Spike well, which Wesley wasn’t so sure this girl did.  There was something nagging him about this one – especially her appearance.  He stared at her for a few minutes, noting the shape of her face, the changeable eye color – even as she looked at him, they were changing,  and the tilt of her head.  It all nagged at him, like he should somehow know this little girl.  “How well do you know Spike?”  
  
“I, um, I know him through Dawn.”  That was as good an answer as any she could really give him, because Kirsten knew if she said too much, there were going to be far too many questions, ones she didn’t want to have to answer – ever.  
  
Apparently that response had been enough for Wesley, at least at this moment, because his attention was diverted by a commotion from outside.  When he got to his feet, Kirsten did the same, taking her cues from him.  
  
Nurses and a couple of EMTs wheeled a covered gurney in and behind it, in the commotion, Giles snuck inside with Anya, holding the baby, just steps behind him.  The concern on the older man’s face was heavy and he strode quickly to the pair.  “Is that?”  
  
“Probably Dawn’s boyfriend.  He didn’t make it.”  Wesley motioned for Anya to step out of the way of a passing intern and moved them further away from curious on-lookers.  Waiting until they were in a small alcove, Wesley continued.  “We didn’t get there soon enough.  It was Angel.  Dawn’s inside with Spike and Buffy.  Her injuries appear superficial, but,” he paused again, blew out a deep breath and said, “I’m hoping that’s all.  We haven’t heard anything yet.”  
  
“Oh, dear god.”  Giles looked around, searching the emergency room for someone who might be in charge and able to give him some answers.  Spying Kirsten for the first time, he asked, “Who is this?”  
  
Wesley leaned closer, so that Kirsten couldn’t overhear him.  “She’s a friend of Dawn’s.  I believe she’s a potential.  She showed up in time to help with Angelus.”  
  
Giles eyed her speculatively, his lips firm and his eyes unflinching.    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
There weren’t any lights on when Faith got to the house.  The backdoor key, usually hidden under the deck, was still there and Faith thought about using it to let herself in, then thought better of it.  
  
 _Last thing I wanna do is piss off Buffy._  
  
Walking around the house, Faith didn’t notice signs of anyone being home.  Hoisting herself up and into the tree outside Buffy’s room, Faith maneuvered herself so she could get a look inside Buffy’s room.  Peeking in the window, she spied the crib and nearly fell out of the tree.  _What the fuck?  B’s got a kid? Can’t be . . . she was gone. . .  So who does the brat really belong to?  
_  
Swinging down from the tree, Faith headed for the back door again.  _Maybe I should just. . ._   The phone started ringing, interrupting her musings.    
  
“Willow, Tara?”  Giles’ voice sounded through the kitchen and Faith put her head as close to the open window as possible.  “Dawn’s been attacked.  We’re at Sunnydale General.  She’s . . . We hope to be out of here before sunrise.”  
  
Not waiting for more of the message, Faith took off in that direction.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Oz had left the shop at the same time as Giles and Anya, though instead of going to the hospital, he headed over to UC Sunnydale, looking for some answers.  Neither Wesley nor Giles could tell him why he smelled of Tara; Spike had at least been able to confirm it – and he’d also told Oz the scent was more than a couple of days old.  It was like they’d started to absorb each other, in the way lovers did.  So Oz was at least assured he wasn’t going crazy, he wasn’t imagining her scent.  
 _  
So dude, you smell like the girl.  And in a good way, not like going after her in the furry state._  
  
He stopped his van, a pensive look across his features.  Last time, well the one he remembered anyway, last time his wolf had wanted to rip out Tara’s throat.   _Nope, don’t feel like doing that right now._  
  
Connecting with his canine self was always interesting.  Wolf didn’t formulate clear thoughts, was pretty much emotion driven, intensifying Oz’ own emotions, magnified them tenfold.  Calling on the wolf now, Oz let Tara’s smell override all the others and got the shock of his life.  Instead of rage, the wolf radiated . . . pack.  Tara was pack . . . more than pack . . . she was _female_ pack.   
  
Oz came back to himself, more than surprised to feel a hard aching arousal pulsing through his muscles.  “Whoa.”  
  
That was weird.  
  
Staring down at his crotch for a long minute, Oz wondered idly what was it about him and lesbians.   
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The door creaked open and the nurse from earlier stuck her head in, then came inside the room.  Spike sat up slowly, disengaging his hand from Buffy, his eyes trained on the woman.  
  
“Dr. Thomas is on his way.  He’s gonna take a look at Dawn’s face, see how many stitches she’ll need.”  
  
“Is she really going to need a lot?”  Buffy started to get up, when a wave of dizziness swept through her.  Eyes closed so she could fight the nausea she completely missed Spike’s move to her side.  
  
 “Stay put, kitten, no need to get up just yet.”  
  
“You should keep crackers or pretzels with you.  It’ll help.”  Buffy sent a questioning look at the woman, who countered with, “I was with you when Dr. Thomas confirmed your pregnancy, don’t you remember?”  
  
The two blondes shared a look.  It was Spike who answered her though, not Buffy.  “Watchers think someone’s tried to break the claim – there’s some strange mojo working.  Don’t remember anything recent.”  
  
“Have you talked to Tara?  She might be to help trace the spell’s origins.”  Buffy looked at her quizzically, about to ask her a question when the door opened and a kind-faced man in his early forties opened the door.  
  
Greeting everyone, he stepped close to Dawn, then gently rolled her onto her back.  Most of the furrows down her cheek were closed up, only one, by her eye, was still sluggishly seeping blood.  “This isn’t as bad as I’d thought.  Shouldn’t take more than twenty or so stitches.  Given time it’ll fade and won’t be noticeable at all.  She won’t even remember them.”  
  
“Don’t think it’s gonna be that easy, Doc.”  Spike’s tone was laced with sarcasm.  
  
“No.  It never really is.”  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Wesley was the first to see her.  He got to his feet, shaking his head in disbelief, believing his eyes were deceiving him.   _Can’t be her.  She’s in prison._  
  
The illusion it wasn’t Faith was shattered the second she approached the information desk and slapped both hands down, gaining the attendant’s undivided attention.  “Got Dawn Summers here?”  
  
He was at her side before Giles realized what had drawn Wesley’s attention.  “Faith?  When did you get home?”  
  
“Wes?”  Faith looked up at the Englishman, a question and plea in her eyes.  “Just got in.  Cruised past the crib and heard the news.  Came right here.  Haven’t even unpacked.”  
  
Even as she was speaking Wesley was shaking his head and fighting a grim smile.  “We’re all over here.  Spike and Buffy are with her now.”  
  
“Faith?”  Giles nearly jumped out of his chair, completely ignoring what Anya was saying as he spied the female Wesley was talking to.  “How on earth?  How in god’s name did you escape?”  
  
Simultaneous exclamations from the two brunettes effectively reminded Giles what he’d just said and he at least had the grace to look apologetic.  He scrambled to cover up his blunder by almost shouting, “Customs!  Goodness, that was quick.”  
  
Faith was shaking her head, while Wesley just stood gaping at the older man.  
  
“Is this really Faith?  The other Slayer?  Why is she here?  What’s going on, Giles?”  Anya’s whispers were much quieter than Giles’ but no less excited.  
  
“Yes.”  Was all the answer Wesley and Giles could give her, the only answer either of them had.  It was for Faith to supply the details.  
  
The dark-haired girl folded her arms over her chest, her stance both belligerent and defensive at the same time.  “Look, I’m here, so that should be enough.”  Pointing at the infant Anya was holding up to her shoulder, she asked pointedly, “Who is this?”


	41. Savage and serene in one hour

**_Book Two.  
  
Chapter 41.  Savage and serene in one hour  
  
  
The change from storm and winter to serene and mild weather,   
from dark and sluggish hours to bright and elastic ones,   
is a memorable crisis which all things proclaim.   
It is seemingly instantaneous at last.   
    Henry David Thoreau, The Writings of Henry David Thoreau, vol. 2,   
  
Our life is March weather, savage and serene in one hour.   
    Ralph Waldo Emerson, Montaigne; or, the Skeptic  
  
Alas! it is the hush of suspense, and in many lands it is the hush of fear.   
    Winston Churchill, A Hush over Europe,   
    broadcast to the United States from London, August 8, 1939_**  
  
  
  
  
“Maybe we should table this conversation until we get out of such a public venue.”  Giles spoke before the glaring between the two girls could escalate into an exchange of words that wasn’t appropriate for the waiting area of a hospital emergency room.  
  
Kirsten looked from one of the older females to the other, her eyes wide with surprise.  She’d heard about Faith, but never expected to actually meet her and so far, all the stories had been true.  Despite the fatigue, and the lines of anger bracketing her wide mouth, and the obviously borrowed clothes, Faith was just as . . .  charismatic and compelling as she’d been told.  
  
Wesley grabbed her shoulder, pulling the Slayer off to the side, away from Anya.  Kirsten couldn’t hear everything that was being said, but she could guess, just by the set of Wesley’s shoulders and his stance, what he was saying.  Kirsten turned her head to watch them more closely, and it was funny listening to Anya whispering to Giles about Faith and how dangerous she was while Faith looked anything but.  
  
The four adults were all lost in their own conversations, none of them paying attention, when a furtive moment by the doors caught her attention.  “Giles?”  Kirsten whispered softly, trying to get his attention without looking like she was getting his attention.  “Giles.  There’s a vamp by the door.”  
  
“What?  Where?”  Giles peered over his glasses, then adjusted them on his face to see more clearly. Keeping his deceptive pose and without moving away from Anya, he nodded to Kirsten.  “Keep an eye on him.  I’m going to alert Wesley and see if I can find out how soon we’ll be out of here.”  
  
At that he patted Anya on the arm, then got to his feet.  As he passed Wesley and Faith, he caught the taller man’s eye and motioned his head toward the doors, mouthing “vamp” while walking to the desk.  “Excuse me, nurse, is there any information on Dawn Summers’ condition?”  
  
The attendant looked up, then pressed a button on her computer screen, and without removing her eyes from the screen, said, “She’s still in examining room 10.  I have nothing more on her status.”  
  
“Room 10?  Thank you.”  He stepped away from the counter, turning his back on the nurse’s station.  “She’s in room 10.”  
  
“I’ll go.”  Anya stood up, preparing to take the baby out of the path of any possible fighting and Giles held her back for a moment, whispering, “Let Spike know we have visitors.”  
  
Her smile was bright, though it never reached her eyes. Anya gathered up the baby’s bag and headed directly for the rooms.  When the security guard tried to stop her, she looked up at him as she pinched Connor beneath the blanket and the baby’s howls started right on cue, Anya said, “Sorry.  His mother is in the back and he needs to nurse.”  
  
With a bright and disarming smile, she sailed right past the man and on into the back.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Working quickly and efficiently, Dr. Thomas had Dawn’s face stitched up before either of the blondes had expected.  The stitches were tiny, dark knots across her skin, like lace wings elongating her eyebrow.  Buffy leaned into Spike’s side, noting with a fair amount of fatigue and irony, although she was unaware of it, “She’s gonna have a scar like yours.”  
  
Dr. Thomas was shaking his head.  “I hope not.  Whoever stitched up Spike’s eye did a terrible job.”  
  
“No one did it.  Just left it alone.”  He shrugged, looking down at the young woman in his arms.  “Slayer’s blade did this.  Must’ve had it blessed.”  
  
Before Buffy had a chance to say anything, there was a sharp knock on the door and Anya strode in with a softly whimpering Connor in her arms.  “Giles wants to know how soon we can go because there are vamps hanging around by the door.”  
  
She looked around, noticing Dawn’s sleeping form, remarking, “They knocked her out.  What did they use?”  
  
Connor’s whimpers got louder as he smelled his family and Anya dumped him into Buffy’s arms.  “That other Slayer is here.”    
  
Glancing at what she thought was two strangers, Anya leaned in, speaking in a stage whisper, “I don’t think you should trust her Buffy, remember last time?  She stole your body and slept with Riley.  Although you aren’t getting orgasms from anyone right now.”  She paused, thinking hard, then smiled brightly, “Wait, you must be getting them from Spike since you are mated.  Do you remember it?”    
  
Giving Spike a very knowledgeable once-over, Anya ignored all attempts to be shushed and kept right on talking.  “He is very pleasing to the eye and appears well endowed, plus he’s got vampire stamina.  Are you sure you don’t remember?”  
  
“Anya?  Vampires?  Waiting room?  Subject.  Stay on it.”  Buffy wasn’t going to blush, promised herself and yet despite that she could feel her face getting flush.  
  
“Why doesn’t anyone ever want to talk about sex?”  Before either of the blonds could elaborate, she held up her hands.  “Okay.  We only saw one, but Faith and Wesley are on it.  That strange little girl noticed it first.”  
  
“Chit’s still here?”  Spike was heading for the door, after exchanging a look with Buffy.  “Get ready to bolt, ladies, once we’re all clear.”  
  
“Spike?”  Buffy’s voice stopped him just before he stepped out into the hallway.  
  
His eyes met hers, understanding and emotion swirling in the ocean-blue depths.  “I know, kitten.”  
  
And he was gone.  
  
Sparing a look down at Connor, Buffy smiled when the baby smiled up at her, while directing her words at the doctor.  “How soon can we take Dawnie home?”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _No sign of Giles or Oxford.  
  
Where’s the chit – Kirsten?_  
  
A flash of swirling dark hair down a darkened and otherwise empty corridor caught his eye and Spike moved in that direction.  An “Ooph” and a grunt sounded off to his right and Spike slid past an open door to find Giles and Kirsten battling a lone vampire.  As he watched, Giles pushed off from the wall, knocking the vamp into Kirsten’s makeshift stake and he was about to comment when he got hit from behind.  
  
Going down in a tangle of limbs, Spike bucked up, throwing off whatever had knocked into him, whirling around to nail his assailant with a left hook.  The vamp’s head snapped and he reeled back, arms pinwheeling, into Wesley, who shoved him back at Spike; with a deep growl he kicked up, catching the vamp across the face, giving Wesley time to stake it.  
  
The sounds of a major smackdown sounded in the hallway was coupled with the unmistakable husky timbre of Faith’s voice as she taunted her opponent.  Spike moved past Wesley, leaning against the doorframe.  “Shouldn’t play with the locals, pet, they get a bit tetchy about it.”  
  
“You know me.  Gotta get my groove on anyway I can.”  Faith tossed the vamp over her shoulder, letting him roll along the floor before she looked over at Spike.  
  
“Faith.”  He nodded at her, his voice and face expressionless.  
  
She returned the greeting.  “Spike.”  
  
He smirked at her, noting her disheveled state and questionable wardrobe.  “Just stopping by for a visit?”  
  
“Nah.”  The vamp came at her, charging wildly and she sidestepped him, almost slowly, her eyes never leaving Spike’s.  “Got a feeling I might be needed.”  
  
“Could be. . .   Might not find so warm a welcome.”  He tossed her a stake, waiting for her next move.  
  
“Goes both ways.  Lots of hard feelings all around.”  Faith turned her back on Spike to trade blows with the vampire.  Tiring of the play, she took the next opening and brutally rammed the stake into his chest.   
  
 “Had some time to think . . . maybe it’s time to let all that go.  Start over again.”  Her body froze as her gaze slid past where Spike was as she focused on the small blond figure beside Spike.  
  
Buffy stared back, her face as devoid of expression as Spike’s had been.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Drusilla was holding court when he finally made it back to the mansion, although it looked otherwise.  Jenner was leaning against the wall next to the fireplace, his eyes on the whirling female as she giggled softly, his pose deceptively indolent.  
  
Older than Angel by a good fifty years, Jenner had only responded because of the lure of the hellmouth and the traitor.  A black-haired, blue-eyed Welshman, Jenner had been working on the docks in Plymouth when Darla had turned him, but unlike Angel, he’d not stuck to her skirts for more than a decade, her possessive rages inciting his own temper once too often.  He didn’t particularly care for Angel – though his anger with William the Bloody ran deep.  Their history was checkered with botched deals and betrayals, albeit on both sides, enough so that this latest bit of news brought Jenner out of his element, willing to take the chance in order to bring Spike down.   
  
The only other of his kind he had as much anger toward was the newly returned master of the house.  His antipathy for Angelus was purely personal; while on the whole he actually enjoyed William the Bloody’s company.  The current source of his anger was based solely on business and dealings that had gone sour.  
  
Angel sauntered into the mansion via the garden, his skin prickling and nerves jumping.  _Too many masters here . . ._   Aside from Jenner, Angel was the oldest vampire and he had a feeling despite their age difference, Jenner would give him less trouble than the others.  Toussaint could be a problem and with him there was always Rebecca to worry about.  As he got further into the room, Angel realized only Jenner and Drusilla were present – along with a few of his remaining minions – which was curious.  He watched Drusilla dip and sway for a moment, a grin crossing his features at her antics.  
  
“Did you hunt well, Daddy?  Were the little ones delicious?”  Not waiting for his reply she blew playful kisses at him, then waggled her fingers.  “Daddy played too long. . . missed the glowing little girl . . . tsk, tsk.  Mustn’t play with our food.  Mummy always said so.”  
  
“You know I can’t resist, Dru.”  Angel slapped her ass, wrapping his swollen hand around her neck, squeezing gently.  “Should’ve come with me . . . and you know Darla is the one who taught us how to play.”  He paused, then moved away from her.  “Jenner.  Glad you decided to come.”  
  
The big vampire shrugged, his eyes never moving from Drusilla.  “Plenty of reasons to.”  He waved a hand and three of his minions emerged from the shadows by the stairs.  “I’ve made arrangements for my own accommodations.”  
  
The air crackled with the unspoken animosity between the two master vampires.  They were, despite protestations otherwise, strikingly similar in looks.  Jenner was a bit taller, and a tad bit brawnier, and they both sported squared jaws and heavy brows.  Angel tended to softness, while Jenner was pure muscle, due to his years on the docks, resembling the rough hewn granite of his homeland.  After meeting Jenner, it had struck Angel that perhaps Darla was searching for a specific look in her men; tall, brawny and he’d suffered from pangs of . . . not jealousy, because by then he’d had Darla six different ways to Sunday, but. . . more along the lines of inadequacy.  Jenner had clearly been in Darla’s mind when she’d picked Liam out of a drunken haze and turned him – though he hadn’t known it at the time.  It had only become clear once he’d met the master vampire and had Darla missing from his bed for a week after their initial meeting.    
  
Jenner pushed off from the wall, his minions drifting to his side.  “I’ll be in touch.”  Eyeing Drusilla, who’d stopped swaying to watch the two of them, a vicious smile playing about her lips, he continued, “I’m staying on the waterfront.  Send word when you have something for me.”  
  
Without another word Jenner and his men left the mansion.    
  
Angel watched them go, his mind more on Jenner’s actions and unwillingness to stay in the mansion than his killing of the teen; his musings making him unprepared for Drusilla’s attack.  Her nails scraped along the left side of his face, in an eerie similarity to what he’d done earlier to Dawn.  Her snarls and snapping jaw sounded far too close to his neck for his liking and Angel pushed her off, trying to hold her at arm’s length.  “What the fuck?”  
  
“Daddy’s been very naughty.  Gone out without his best baby girl.  Can’t have that now, can we?”  Her nails dug into his wrist, puncturing the skin and drawing rivulets of fresh blood from his veins.  “Mustn’t hunt without me. . . else sunshine will take you. . .”  
  
“It’s still full dark out, Dru, what the hell are you talking about?”  Angel threw her off him, sucking on the wounds she’d given him.  
  
Her maniacal laughter echoed against the walls of the sitting room and she slithered to her feet, sinuous movements designed to put all thoughts of her attack out of his mind.  “Daddy mustn’t travel alone. . . Slayer’s got too many friends for that.”  
  
“Dru. . . . they were careless.  And you were the one who told me to go hunting!  What the fuck are you complaining about now?”  She’d been the one to push him earlier – sensing something different in the air, something off.  
  
She was shaking her head. “Tsk, tsk, Daddy. . . baby slayers have come out to play. . .  Nasty little girls who can do more than mummy ever dreamed . . . come for you . . . must stay away.  Bad little baby strawberries.  Rotten.  Deadly.”  
  
“Dru, enough.”  Ignoring her attempt at a warning, Angel focused on their guests.  “Where the hell are Rebecca and Toussaint?”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Lawson had watched from the shadows while three more minions were dusted by the Slayer’s people.  For humans they fared better than he’d expected, the vampires had been clearly outclassed from the onset of the fight, even without the presence of William the Bloody.  
  
Unable to get close, he had missed the conversation between Spike and the dark-haired girl, but it was clear to his eyes there wasn’t much love lost between them.  He wondered briefly if this was the Slayer, though when a small blond woman appeared, Sam knew he’d been wrong.  _She’s the one. . . and no bigger than a minute.  Geezuz, she’s tiny.  
_  
An older man, slightly greying, peered from one of the girls to the other and gestured them all to silence.  _That has to be the Watcher . . . so who’s the other guy?_ Taller, thinner than both the others, Lawson couldn’t figure out who he was.  Sliding closer, he heard the unmistakable cadence of a third British accent and he slid back into the shadows, thinking.  Tall and dark was English.  Older and greying was English.  William the Bloody was English.  _What is this?  Us against them again?  
_  
The group moved away and he lost visual contact with them.  
  
Having gotten some of the information he wanted, Lawson waited until they left, making his way back to the mansion.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Hearing Faith was back in Sunnydale and actually seeing her in the flesh were two completely different things.  Buffy had heard Anya, she just hadn’t digested the reality of it all.  Seeing Faith as she faced her mate caused a whole different set of simultaneous reactions off inside her head.  Without any conscious awareness of what she was doing, Buffy stepped in front of Spike, her eyes boring into Faith’s.  Last time they’d seen each other had been in the aftermath of the body switch, after Faith had already slept with Riley  – and hit on Spike.  
  
“You’re supposed to be in prison.”  It was the first thing Buffy could think of that wasn’t an outright growl.  
  
“Was there until a few hours ago.”  Faith didn’t physically shrug, but the attitude was still there.  
  
“Why are you here?”  Buffy’s voice was clipped and she didn’t even relax when Spike stepped closer to her back.  
  
“Buffy?”  Giles voice broke into the non-conversation the two slayers were having and he continued without waiting for acknowledgment.  “We should continue this discussion in a safer location.  Both Dawn and Connor should be in their own beds.”  
  
Silence greeted his statement, as both Slayers assessed the other, gauging trustworthiness.  Spike’s hand reached for Buffy’s and, on contact, she relaxed.  “C’mon, kitten, let’s get the kiddies home.”  
  
Wesley spoke, motioning to himself and Faith, “We’ll meet you back at the house.”  With a pointed look at the prison escapee, he jerked his head and started off.  
  
Anya handed the once again mewling infant to Buffy all the while muttering under her breath about unstable boyfriend and body-stealing people.    
  
“Where’s Bit?”  Spike watched Wesley and Faith, a niggling feeling of eyes on the back of his neck making him wary.  
  
“She’s with the doctor still.”  They all trailed behind Buffy as she headed back toward the examining room.  “He said Dawn would be okay to leave when I got back.”  
  
And she was.  Dr. Thomas had gotten a very groggy Dawn up and into a wheelchair while the others had dealt with the vampires.  Tired and teary blue eyes barely opened at their reappearance, though Dawn smiled sadly when she saw Spike.  
  
Crossing the room in a couple of strides, Spike knelt down by the chair, his hands smoothing back Dawn’s disheveled hair.  “Ready to go home?”  
  
Her lower lip quivered as fresh tears flooded her eyes.  A soft sob broke from her mouth and all Dawn could do was nod her head.  
  
“Right then.”  He started to get to his feet when another sob from Dawn caught his attention.  Spike wrapped his arms around her, holding her against his chest, letting her tears fall.  
  
Giles tapped Buffy’s shoulder, whispering softly, “I’ll just go get the Jeep.  Anya?”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Their footsteps were muffled, despite the lack of any other traffic, vehicular or otherwise, as Faith and Wesley walked through the dark streets of Sunnydale.  
  
Wesley stuck his hands in his pockets, suddenly realizing he’d rushed from the Magic Box without a warm enough jacket and the night had turned cold.  A glimpse over at his companion told him she wasn’t faring much better, though, like him, she was doing her best to ignore it.  
  
“How?”  The question escaped from his mouth before he had a chance to think about it, or censor his thoughts.  
  
“Easier than I thought it would be.  Could’ve just walked out.”  Dismissing the ease of her escape, Faith asked the one question that had been bugging her.  “Who does the brat belong to?”  
  
Wesley sighed, wondering just how much information he could or should share with her.  “I’m not sure about his paternity.  His mother appears to be Darla.  His origins . . .” Following his impulse, Wesley gave Faith as much information as he could.  “We are under some sort of cloaking or forgetting spell.  There’s not much information we have at the moment, and so Buffy has no memory of what happened following her battle with Glory and I have no idea why I’m here – other than it appears Angel’s lost his soul.”  
  
“What?”  Faith stopped walking, turning to face Wesley.  “How the hell did that happen?”  
  
“Again, I’m uncertain of how, because of the spell.  Evidently the reason why we have some knowledge of all this is because of the claim between Buffy and Spike.  The spell appears to be incomplete because of their mating.”  
  
They resumed walking, the cold making the urge to linger dissipate.  
  
“So, maybe these Slayer dreams I’ve been having could help with that.”  The admission was reluctant, although it was clear to Wesley that Faith’s offer was genuine.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Kirsten hung back, watching all of them, afraid to disobey Spike and yet wary of intruding too much.  Weird thing was none of them seemed to remember her, not even Dawn, which was seriously strange.  The need to run away, to go back to where she belonged was an urge she had to fight very hard against.  At the same time, though, was the fear something else was about to go down and once more Dawn would be in danger.  
  
Thank god, though, Giles hadn’t caught her slip.  
  
 _Just have to remember no more mistakes.  Can’t tell anyone else.  Dad’s gonna be so pissed when he catches me.  Mom would understand though . . . maybe. . ._  
  
Though there was the question of credibility and just how much she’d be believed if she actually told the truth.  
  
She trailed behind Buffy, her eyes drifting between the Slayer and her vampire.  Kirsten sighed, a smile crossing her features.  They were a fairy-tale come true – something out of legend.  They really were.  The scarred and damaged warrior, hiding the pure and sensitive soul behind the mask of brutality wandering for years in the dark until the beautiful, fierce, deadly girl stole his heart. _Totally a modern take on Beauty and the Beast._  
  
Mentally rolling her eyes, Kirsten sighed.  They’d both knock her on the head for that one and privately they’d be mush.  _But too bad, coz it’s true. . . only they don’t think it’s all that weird. . . because I think they were made for each other._   As she watched them standing by the door, Spike rested one hand on Dawn’s shoulder, his other reached out to run a finger over Buffy’s cheek, cupping her chin and then the baby’s head; Kirsten knew, no matter how much trouble she was going to get in, coming back had been the right thing to do.  Besides, now she just had more ammo to tease them with.  
  
The Jeep pulled up and Spike turned his head, catching her eye.  “C’mon, pet, time to go.”


	42. Our memory is our coherence

_**Book Two.  
  
Chapter 42. Our memory is our coherence  
  
Mild brown eyes beckon me to the past,   
but memory provides no clue.   
    Mason Cooley, City Aphorisms, Eighth Selection  
  
Ah! you can die,   
the world can collapse,   
I have lost the one I love.   
I must now live in this terrible solitude where memory is torture.   
    Albert Camus, The Misunderstanding, act 2, sc. 2  
  
I construct my memories with my present.   
I am lost, abandoned in the present.   
I try in vain to rejoin the past:   
I cannot escape.   
    Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea   
  
You have to begin to lose your memory,   
if only in bits and pieces,   
to realise that memory is what makes our lives.   
Life without memory is no life at all ...   
Our memory is our coherence, our reason,   
our feeling, even our action.   
Without it, we are nothing ...   
    Luis Buñuel **_  
  
  
  
  
There wasn’t enough room in the Jeep for all of them, since Connor’s car seat took up most of the backseat, especially with the added presence of Kirsten.  Until Spike decided to climb in the back with Dawn, Buffy was afraid someone else was going to have either double up or get out and walk.  
  
Buffy watched him climb in effortlessly, her sister cradled gently in his arms.  He hadn’t caused her any further discomfort, not once jostling her even enough to disturb her broken ribs.  Dawn was still crying, tears sliding down her face, keeping the cuts open.  Didn’t matter her own eyes were blurred, Buffy could barely stem the tide of her own tears, listening to the soft sobs of her broken sister, her heart wrenched.  
  
The attack, and by whom, had been completely unexpected.  _Angel_.  If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, Buffy never would have believed it.  
  
Angel had attacked Dawn.  
  
Casey was dead because of Angel.  
  
Dawn’s heart was broken because of Angel.  
  
Had she done something to cause this?  Was all this her fault again?  
  
Spike’s calm low tones broke through her self-absorbed thoughts and she suddenly couldn’t imagine being the cause of all this.  There had to be some other explanation for how Angel’s soul had disappeared yet again.  
  
She couldn’t have been so stupid a second time.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Faith remained quiet, her mind concentrating on all the jumbled dream images in her head, searching for the one thing that could explain this and make it all clear again.  So far, the answer was proving elusive, though she knew, given enough time, it would surface.  For now, though, she was better off just thinking.  
  
Wesley’s mind was working, searching for a logical explanation.  One thing bothered him, and he knew he’d need to research it more closely, because it was nagging at him.  How come he could remember Darla was Connor’s mother – and why didn’t that strike him as odd?  _Darla is a vampire.  How is it possible for her to conceive?  
_  
They turned onto Revello Drive, both of them slowing their pace when the darkened house came into view.  
  
“Spare key’s under the deck.”  Faith said at the same time Wesley asked, “How come Willow and Tara aren’t awake?”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Curled up in Spike’s arms, Dawn gave into the tears again.  Every couple of breaths another shudder would overtake her muscles and she’d lose all control again.  His arms were strong around her, shielding her from the outside world though nothing could ease the pain in her heart.  
  
 _All my fault.  It’s all my fault.  Casey’s dead because of me . . ._ Stinging tears slid into the cuts lining her cheek, mixing with the blood, washing through the furrows.  Snot and bloody tears leaked from her, but Dawn didn’t care anymore.  _Casey’s dead . . . I killed him._  
  
Not even the soft rumbles of Spike’s voice helped, despite how safe she knew she was, Dawn’s guilt grew.  _Casey won’t be . . . he tried so hard to protect me and it’s my fault he’s dead.  
  
My fault . . .  My fault._  
  
A sob broke from her lips – just his name and the pain swam into her, sweeping through every part of her.  _Oh, Casey.  
  
I’m sorry.  
  
It’s all my fault._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She felt so tiny in his arms.  
  
Broken.  
  
Shattered.  
  
Her entire body was shaking with uncontrollable tremors, tears and grief swirling inside her, seeking some release.  
  
Spike held her face to his still chest, hoping some of his strength would help her hold it together, at least for a little while.  Until they could get her to sleep . . .   
  
The rising tide of anger was rapidly . . . Spike had no idea why Angel was attacking Dawn, of all people, and at this particular moment, he didn’t much care why.  All he knew was one of his girls had been hurt – and the physical damage was the least of it.  
  
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and, had she seen it, Buffy wouldn’t have missed the control Spike was exerting.  Dawn nestled into his tight hold, more tears wetting his shirt.  As the salty wetness spread over the black cotton, Spike started an internal list of how many ways to inflict pain.  
  
His foot tapped against the side of the Jeep, and as he was about to complain about how long a ten block trip was taking, he lifted his eyes to see the familiar houses of Revello Drive.  “Bout bloody fuckin’ time.”  
  
Dawn sobbed out Casey’s name and he tightened his hold on her, whispering something he hoped was more soothing than the thoughts circling round his head.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Faith and Wesley were just crossing the next door neighbor’s lawn when the Jeep pulled into the driveway.  Three doors opened almost before the wheels stopped moving and not surprising, Buffy was the first one out.  
  
Spike was emerging from the back with a still weeping Dawn cradled in his embrace.  
  
“Giles?  Get the door please.”  Buffy directed her troops, motioning for Anya to bring Connor inside while she helped Spike get Dawn inside, her eyes trained on the small blond girl waiting at the front steps.  It was easier to focus on her than deal with the other uninvited presence at her door.  Too bad she was only human, vampires had to at least get an invite before they could just walk in the door.  Buffy grimaced, not wanting to deal with any of this – _Faith – Kirsten – Angel_ –  right now.  She should be able to focus on Dawn, take care of her.  Dawn needed her – all this other stuff could wait.  
  
Making her decision as they hit the front door, Buffy shared a look with Spike. He nodded once, indicating his understanding, then, once they crossed the threshold, he shifted Dawn around balancing her weight better in his arms.  Everyone was inside, even Faith, who stood just inside the door, uncertain of her welcome.  Spike’s voice from upstairs forestalled whatever Buffy had been about to say and she took the baby from Anya and in a move that surprised no one more than herself, said, “C’mon, Kirsten, you too.”  
              
Buffy got to the top of the stairs in time to see Spike kick open the door to Dawn’s room, growling when the door started to swing back toward him.    
  
“Lemme get that.”  She hurried down the hallway, Connor’s head nestled against her shoulder.  “We need to get her out of those clothes and into pjs.”  
  
Kirsten followed them into the room, her eyes darting between the two adults.  Spike put Dawn down, laying her very gently on the bed, then stared down at the softly weeping teen.  One-handedly Buffy tried to get Dawn’s boots off, until Kirsten quietly asked, “Want me to do that?”  
  
The sound of her voice drew a sharp look from the blond pair, one set of eyes speculative while the other somewhat more welcoming.  “Take Connor?  I’ll get her ready.”  
  
Suiting action to words, Buffy handed off the baby, who, to their surprise, didn’t protest being held by the stranger.  Spike’s raised eyebrow posed a question to his mate, who responded with a shrug and distracted look.  Dawn was murmuring incoherently, the second dose of pain medication kicking in and making her drowsy and lethargic.  
  
Attention drawn back to her sister, Buffy directed Spike to get her something to sleep in while she carefully undressed her.  Bruises marred her skin, livid purple marks on both arms and in a grim circle around her neck.  Angel had broken six of Dawn’s ribs, which were wrapped tightly, and severely bruised her throat.  Thank god though, she wasn’t that badly hurt.  Physically she would recover in a month or two . . . but her baby sister’s heart had just been broken, ripped out and stomped on, and that wound might never heal.  
  
Buffy brushed back Dawn’s hair, running her fingers across her battered cheek, her touch gentle and unaware of the tears falling from her own eyes.  “I’m sorry, Dawnie.  I’m so sorry.  I wasn’t there to protect you.”  
  
“Mommy.”  A soft whimper broke from Dawn and Buffy couldn’t tell her Joyce was dead, she’d never remember the lie anyway.    
  
“Mommy’s just getting something . . . try and sleep, Dawnie.”  
  
“Don’t wanna . . . want . . .  Daddy?”  Dawn’s bloodshot, bleary eyes focused on Spike, who had moved to stand behind Buffy.  “There’s Daddy.  I’ve got a vampire daddy. . . says I’m . . . mother and Janet.”  She reached for him, then a grimace crossed her features as pain rippled through her.  “Ow. . . ow. . . ow.”  
  
“All right, Niblet, need to stay still.  ‘M right here, not goin’ anywhere.”  He settled onto the bed, near her hip, his cool hand cupping hers.  _How the bleedin’ hell does she know ‘bout my mother and Janet?_  
  
“Stay with me?”  Dawn settled down the minute their hands met and Spike couldn’t find his voice when she said, “Safe with my Daddy. . .  Spike.”  
  
He shared a long look with Buffy, Dawn’s drug induced babbling added more questions for the Watchers to go over.    
  
“Yeah, sweets, all safe now.  ‘M gonna keep you safe.”  With his free hand, Spike held onto Buffy’s, his thumb brushing over the top of hers, “Gonna keep you all safe.”  
  
Kirsten watched them, suddenly aware that neither Buffy nor Spike was in possession of all the facts at the moment – somehow their knowledge of the truth about Dawn had been stripped from them.  . . _did they know about her being pregnant?  What had happened that caused this shift?_   She’d taken a huge risk, coming back to save Dawn, risking getting caught and exposing her secrets.  Connor nuzzled against her neck and Kirsten fought a giggle.  This was so weird.  Holding him, she reached a decision, one she was determined to keep.  _If I have to explain . . . well, me, I’m only explaining it to two people.  Hopefully, they’ll take it on faith and not give me too much shit about it.  But I had to come back. . . had to.   For  Mom’s sake . . . and Dad’s, too.  
_  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Muted noises filtered through her sleeping brain, tweaking her senses and causing her consciousness to begin the swim toward wakefulness.  Her body was sated, limbs loose and languid and for long moments after her eyes opened, Tara just basked in the feel of her lover curled in her arms, Willow’s soft breaths washing over her bare limbs.    
  
But the sounds from downstairs got a bit louder, strange voices and noises echoing through the house at . . . Tara squinted at the clock, shaking her head in disbelief, three forty three in the morning.  Deciding the amount of noise couldn’t possibly be Buffy alone returning from patrol, Tara rolled away from Willow and got up out of bed.  With a last wistful gaze back at her lover, she whispered a muffling incantation and then slipped through the door.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Wesley headed directly for the kitchen, Faith trailing behind him, as Giles and Anya began cleaning off and putting away the weapons.  With no idea how soon Buffy and Spike would be coming back downstairs, Wesley figured it was going to be a long night and he fired up the coffee machine and the kettle.  He couldn’t explain to anyone, including himself, how he knew where things were stored in Buffy’s kitchen, yet he did.    
  
The lack of clear memories had been bothering him most of the night, since Buffy first walked into the Magic Shop shortly before five in the afternoon, worsening when Spike arrived with nearly the same vague feeling Buffy had complained of.  It might have been easy to discount one of them, except the both of them with corroborating feelings – and not to mention the evidence of the claim – had only worsened his unease.  Mentally, he tallied over his “known” facts.  
  
 _Darla is Connor’s mother.  
  
Buffy and Spike are mated.  
  
Angel has lost his soul.  
  
Oz has bonded with Tara, without Willow’s presence.  
_  
“Faith?  Your dreams, about how long have they been disturbing?”  Wesley folded his arms over his chest, leaning back against the counter, his eye on the kettle.  
  
She looked up from shredding the napkin and he could see the movement of her mouth where she was chewing on the inside of her cheek.  “Which set?”  
  
“You’ve had more than one set of disturbing dreams?”  He stood straight, his attention now focused on her.  
  
“Well, yeah.  Had ‘em for a while.”  She paused, finally looking up at him.  “Look, can we wait with the interrogation until Buffy’s here?”  
  
“I think that would be for the best.”  Giles’ voice sounded from the living room doorway, interrupting whatever Wesley might have been about to say.  “There’s so much information we’ve lost there is very little way of knowing for certain what is a product of the spell and what is not.”  
  
He walked further into the kitchen, his eyes sweeping around the room as if taking inventory.  “The knowledge is there, like something hovering at the edges of memory, yet we are unable to recover it.”  He paused for a moment, obviously gathering his thoughts.  “I believe the effects of the spell were blocked by the mating bond between Buffy and Spike, and while part of me is appalled by that bond, another, more tolerant part of me is aware this was a natural progression of something already existing that I am currently unaware of.”  
  
Everyone relaxed, waiting for Giles to continue.  “Additionally, the spellcaster seems to be ignorant of several other things that have also disrupted the stability of the spell.  Connor’s presence for one, another is, unfortunately, Angel’s current soul-free status.”   He paced  forward a bit, glasses off and in his hand.  “Which concerns me, because we have no way of knowing what kind of forces Angel might have arrayed against us.”  
  
“Spellca – caster?”  Tara stood in the doorway between kitchen and dining room, fuzzy slippers on her feet and frumpy bathrobe wrapped around her.  “What’s going on?”  
  
“Apparently, we’ve had someone try and cast a spell on us that hasn’t completely, well,”  Giles answered her, as Wesley moved the kettle away from the burner. “It appears either the casting was faulty or the effects of the spell have been blocked by the presence of a mating bond between Buffy and Spike.”  
  
The blond witch stood still for a moment, trying to absorb exactly why all these people were in the kitchen at this hour, in addition to what Giles had just told her.  “Buffy and Spike are mated?”    
  
Her confusion only grew when she took in the two brunettes she had never met.  “Who is this?”  
  
“It’s me, Wesley.  Don’t you remember me?”  His expression grew more thoughtful as he realized he remembered her, yet she apparently had no recollection of him.  
  
Shaking her head, she stuttered out, “Sorry, no, I don’t.”  
  
Anya gave a little snort, then shifted her gaze between Faith and Giles.  “This spell has affected each one of us differently.  Which means there was more than one point of focus for the spellcaster.  We need to find out what is going on.  I can’t have my life or my money in jeopardy very long.”  
  
Tara’s statement seemed to have triggered some flare of awareness in Wesley, because he looked up, then said very quietly, “Eureka!  I’ve got it.”  
  
Both Anya and Giles stared at him, aware of Buffy’s earlier tirade in the Magic Box and Wesley waved his hand briefly for a moment.  “Tara?  What is the last clear memory you have?”  
  
They waited patiently while the blond girl thought, Faith the only one with a half-disinterested expression on her face.  Finally, after long moments, Tara spoke.  
  
“Last thing I remember was Mr. Giles going back to England and Buffy was de. . . dead.  Sp. . . Spike was living here, taking care of Dawn.  And. . . and Willow  . . .”  She shrugged, afraid that this was all somehow wrong.  
  
“That’s it.”  Wesley nearly banged his hands down the counter, barely restraining himself at the last second.  
  
“What is?”  Giles glanced at his younger counterpart, a clear question in his gaze.  
  
“The last time I have a clear, real memory is from sometime in August.  And Buffy was dead.  She’s obviously not now, so that has to be the point where our collective memories were altered.”  
  
“Are you telling me that we are only discovering our altered memories now, in,” Anya gazed over at the wall calendar, noting the month.  “In December?”  
  
“No, that’s not what I’m suggesting at all.  What I am suggesting is that it was that point in time the spellcaster wanted to recreate.”  
  
Giles settled his glasses back on his face, contemplating Wesley’s theory.  “If that is the case, it might be wise if we try to discover exactly how this spell was designed and by whom.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
 _  
Robbie is so gonna kill me._   Kirsten closed her eyes, shutting out the sights and sounds  around her, searching for the bond she shared with her older brother.  It was still there, though, stretched very thin, but still real, still true.  _He’s so gonna kick my ass, but Daddy’s gonna be worse._   Opening her eyes again, Kirsten found discerning blue eyes focused on her, a very assessing look in his eyes.  _I am so very busted.  
_  
Buffy was rustling about the bedroom, picking up Dawn’s destroyed clothes and stuffing them in the trash bin.  Kirsten tracked her movements, knowing Buffy was doing the cleaning just to stay busy.  Her back was to Spike, her body almost parallel with Kirsten’s and Kirsten could just see Buffy’s expression out of the corner of her eyes.  She knew a split second before Spike that Buffy was crying, but only because she saw the tears start.  
  
Spike was on his feet, his arms wrapped around Buffy’s shoulders before Kirsten reacted.  “Kitten?”  
  
She turned in his embrace, burying her face against his chest.  “I’m supposed to keep her safe.  To protect her.  I promised Mom I would and I failed her.  She wasn’t safe tonight.”  
  
“You did nothin’ wrong love, spell’s playin’ with all of us.”  His hands ran down her back, soothing her as best he could.  “Not your fault.”  
  
“It is . . . what if he’s around because of something I did?”  The words were tumbling from her mouth before she could stop their flow.  
  
Spike stared down at the top of her head for a moment, anger warring with grief and some disbelief for her thinking that.  “Buffy. . . tha’s just fear talkin’.  Look at me, love,” when she kept her eyes averted, he tilted her chin up, his fingers holding her face. “Those marks of mine aren’t a week old – they’re older.  We smell too much like each other.   That baby here,” he pressed his other hand against her belly.  “This is mine too.  An’ ‘m gonna guess an’ say that didn’t happen last week.  Have to be at least a month along, kitten, otherwise I couldn’t be so sure.”    
  
Wrapping his arms around her again, he rested his forehead against hers.  “There’s no way the bond we share would allow for what you’re thinkin’.  Wasn’t you this time.”  
  
Kirsten knew she shouldn’t be a witness to this moment.  This was. . . very private.  She closed her eyes again, shutting down all her senses, waiting until one or the other of them called her by name.  She missed when Buffy leaned into Spike, her hands holding onto his shirt, her body seeking reassurance from him that he wasn’t just saying all this to ease her guilt.  She missed too, when Spike lowered his head, his lips brushing across Buffy’s, soft words of comfort and love issuing forth.  
  
For long moments they stood together, until Connor’s whimpers of discomfort mingled with Dawn’s groans of pain.  
  
Kirsten came out of her trance state to find concerned hazel green eyes staring at her.  For a moment, Kirsten swore there was recognition and awareness there, but Buffy blinked and the knowledge was gone.  “Hey.  You okay?  You were like a million miles away.”  
  
It took her a minute to shake off the trance and find her voice.  “Yeah.  I’m good.  How’s Dawn?”  
  
“She’ll be all right.  Needs to sleep now.”  Spike answered as Buffy said, “We need to get this little guy settled.”  Lifting Connor from Kirsten’s arms, she said, “I’ll be right back.  You can borrow something of Dawn’s to sleep in.”  
  
“Yeah.  I’ll, um, do that.”  Kirsten watched Buffy go, then headed straight for Dawn’s dresser.  “I’ll just grab something comfy and change.”  
  
“Do that.  When you come back, we’re gonna have ourselves a bit of a chat.”


	43. Persistence of memory

_**Book Two.  
  
Chapter 43.  Persistence of memory  
  
  
Real knowledge is to know the extent of one's ignorance.   
    Confucius  
  
Time is just something that we assign.   
You know, past, present, it's just all arbitrary.   
Most Native Americans, they don't think of time as linear;   
in time, out of time, I never have enough time,   
circular time, the Stevens wheel.   
All moments are happening all the time.   
    Robin Green and Mitchell Burgess, Northern Exposure, Hello, I Love You, 1994  
  
We are here and now.   
Further than that, all knowledge is moonshine.   
    H.L. Mencken  
  
I do not believe...I know.   
    Carl Jung  
  
Existence really is an imperfect tense that never becomes a present.   
    Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche  
  
Everything you can imagine is real.   
    Pablo Picasso  
  
Did you ever wonder if the person in the puddle is real,   
and you're just a reflection of him?   
    Calvin and Hobbes  
  
Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.   
    Albert Einstein**_  
  
  
  
Buffy changed Connor out of his dirty diaper, getting him quickly into a warm sleeper.  He mewled in sleepy protest a couple of times, then settled down when his mouth found his thumb.  With a quick kiss on his forehead, Buffy tucked him into his crib, a baby cookie monster by his side.  
  
She stopped, just short of the doorway, grabbing her pajamas.  There was dried blood all over her, a mix of Casey’s and Dawn’s, transferred from her sister’s clothing.  The dark gummy splotches covering her brought tears to her eyes, and Buffy was hard pressed to stem the tears again.  Dawn shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of stuff – shouldn’t have had so much death and destruction around her.  _And how could she believe any of this was her fault, all this because she had been given to them by the monks . . . how could she believe the bullshit Glory had fed her about being evil?_  
  
It was a silly question, and Buffy knew it even as her mind was thinking it.  Dawn believed Glory because at the time, they hadn’t understood anything about the Key – what it did, why it existed and how it could be used.  They still didn’t, or so she thought.  Perhaps that was another one of those memories. Buffy stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, bloodstained washcloth in her hand, wondering exactly how much of her life she didn’t remember.    
  
 _How did Spike . . .  And why do I just trust him so much?  It had to happen . . . I had to trust him before we mated, otherwise I wouldn’t have agreed to it.  The last thing I remember was . . . fighting Glory.  The tower.  Oh my god.  I remember the tower.  I jumped . . . to save Dawn._  
  
The washcloth dropped from her hand, splattering wetly against the tile floor, watery blood seeping from its edges.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“So you’re telling us whoever cast this spell wanted to recreate a moment in time when Buffy was dead?”  Giles stared at the younger Englishman, disbelief written across his features.  
  
“It’s the only theory I can come up with that even begins to make a bit of sense out of this whole situation.  These are the facts, as we currently know them.  Buffy and Spike are mated.  Angel has lost his soul and has attacked twice now, first Oz and again tonight.  Darla is Connor’s mother.”  
  
Wesley’s pronouncement of Connor’s maternal parentage stunned the rest of them, leaving them all silent.  Tara’s stuttering question brought them all back to the present.  “Who is Darla?”  
  
“Darla is a vampire.  Angel dusted her when Buffy was sixteen. . . four years ago.”  Giles answered her, his eyes steadily on Wesley.  “How is it possible?  Connor is an infant.  This is . . .  Wesley do you realize what you are hypothesizing?”  
  
“I do.  I realize it is beyond the pale, though can you honestly say that it is completely and utterly impossible?  We’ve already established Buffy’s death and subsequent resurrection . . . how is this any less improbable?”  
  
Once more Giles was silenced, his mind working up several different scenarios and possible explanations as to how and why they were currently in this situation.  Wesley’s compiling of the information they knew to be fact was in itself a feat, since the known factors changed almost hourly.  Conceding his point for the time being, Giles said, “I suppose there isn’t a more credible explanation for any of this.  What we do need to unravel is this spell.  If it is at all possible, that is.”  
  
“How. . . how do you . . . how can we do that?”  Tara ducked her head, embarrassed by her stutter.  
  
Giles and Wesley both smiled kindly at her, though, which eased her discomfort just a bit.  
  
“Last year, when Buffy was trying to discover information about her mother’s illness she used a trance.”  Giles started explaining, only to be interrupted by Anya.    
  
“Oh, Cloutier’s spell.  Tirer la couverture.”  Anya turned a bright smile on those present, which Faith thought was quite bizarre.  “But Buffy said it didn’t work.”  
  
“You and I both know it’s not possible for it to have failed.”  Giles peered steadily at Anya, waiting for her agreement. “She also admitted later on it did work, although she had been unprepared for the information revealed.”   
  
“So does this mean anyone can do this whatever?”  For the first time since Tara came into the kitchen, Faith spoke up, directing her question to either of the Watchers.  
  
“Anyone who is familiar with breathing techniques and meditation.”  Wesley looked at each of the faces arrayed around him.  The only one of them who might not be immediately capable of the trance was Anya, though her past as a demon gave her an edge none of the rest of them had.  
  
“So basically, any one of us.”  Faith, in typical fashion, was the one to state the obvious.    
  
“Basically.”  
  
“So. . . which one of us is gonna be volunteered for this?”  Faith shifted her glance between the two Watchers, noting when the Englishmen shared a look she couldn’t readily interpret.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy had been gone for far too long and Connor wasn’t fussing because Spike would have heard him clearly.  Kirsten was back from her trip to the bathroom, the borrowed pajamas two sizes too big, making her look like a little girl playing at dress up.  Spike fought the smile the sight of her invoked, knowing it wasn’t quite appropriate.      
  
 _Gone too long. . ._   Getting to his feet, Spike pointed a finger in Kirsten’s direction.  “Stay in this room, pet.  Be right back.”   
  
He didn’t close the door completely on the way out and she didn’t bother to either.  Kirsten knew it was likely Angel wouldn’t attack again now – considering the hour – but she wanted to be able to get to weapons quickly – just in case.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Didn’t take him long at all to find her, she was sitting on the toilet in her bathroom, head down in her hands, soft sobs ripping through her.  
  
He hesitated for a brief moment, just watching her, gauging how bad she was.  When she didn’t register his presence, Spike knelt down in front of her, his hands sliding along the outside of her thighs.  Expecting some resistance, Spike was braced for her initial rejection.  Instead he found himself almost falling when Buffy practically fell into his arms.  
  
“Hey, love, what’s all this then?  The only answer he got was more tears and slight hiccupping and her fingers digging into his shoulders.  “Kitten?”  
  
Spike pulled away from her, just a little, his strong hand reaching out to cup her chin.  Tilting her head up so their eyes could meet, he was staggered by the raw pain reflected in her mostly green eyes.  “Oh, kitten, what’s wrong?”  
  
“I remember . . . what happened with Glory.”  Her voice cracked and broke, tears sliding down her cheeks, then dropped to a bare whisper.  “I remember. . . the tower and. . . jumping.  Don’t remember after.  I was dead.”  
  
“Oh god, sweetheart.”  Spike gathered her in his arms, encircling her in whatever warmth he could lend her. He had hoped she wouldn’t remember any of that . . . hoped, even knowing it was hopeless, because once this was all sussed out, she would remember.  “Sorry, Buffy, so damn sorry.”  
  
She sniffled, reaching for a tissue to blow her nose.  “Why?”  
  
“I blew it.  Failed you . . .’s my fault you had to jump that night.”  Her tears were triggering his own and Spike clenched his jaw, fighting the emotion.  
  
“No.”  Buffy shook her head, fingers lingering on his cheek, brushing across his lips.  “Wasn’t your fault.  It was what I had to do.”  
  
She searched his eyes for a long moment, drew in a quavery breath and shocked him completely.  “I trusted you to take care of Dawnie for me.  Knew you would, better than anyone, because you love her.  And me.  And I asked you because I loved you then . . . just didn’t know how to say it.”  
  
Her lips found his, warm and wet, and Spike pulled her close with a groan.  “Love you. . . so bloody much.”  
  
“I know.”  Buffy whispered with a shaky laugh, her eyes boring into his.  “I love you right back.”  
  
A wide grin split his features, then faded away as he remembered the night’s events.  “Have to suss out what’s going on, kitten.  Need to know.”  
  
Buffy slipped her hand into his as he got to his feet.  “Yeah we do.  And then we need to sleep.”  
  
“We?”  He raised an eyebrow, watching her reflection in the mirror.  
  
“Yup.  You can stay up, but Buffy and baby Buffy need to sleep.”  She smiled back at him, even though his reflection wasn’t there and he could see the strain and fatigue around her eyes.  
  
“Could forego questioning the chit, so’s you and bitty-bit could get some kip.”  
  
“No, we’ll do this first.”  
  
“Right then.  Lead, on MacDuff.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“I think, perhaps, you might be the best candidate.”  Unexpectedly, Giles had his eyes on Faith, watching her intently.  
  
“I could do it.”  Tara’s voice broke in timidly, though Giles only smiled at her warmly, shaking his head negatively while he did so.  
  
“Me?  Why me?”  Confused by this completely unexpected show of support, Faith couldn’t stop the questions.    
  
Giles sighed, trying to gather his thoughts before speaking.  “We are all affected by this spell, except you.  You were miles away from Sunnydale at the time and weren’t part of this at all.  I believe it would be easier for you to discover the magic and spells involved since  none of us is entirely certain what is actually going on.”  
  
Catching onto Giles’ meaning, Wesley backed him up.  ‘You are the only one of us untainted by this.  In fact, you somehow appear to be immune.  Giles is right.  We have no real way of discovering anything until this is done.  At the very least we should be able to discover who is the focal point.”  
  
“Makes no difference to me.”  Faith shrugged, displaying a certain amount of non-chalance that was belied by her enthusiasm.  “How soon are we gonna do this?  
  
“That’s basically up to you.”  Wesley reached for an empty cup, pouring himself some coffee.  
  
“Then let’s do it.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Kirsten was sitting caddy-cornered to Dawn’s bed, her head resting in her cupped hands, watching the other teen sleep.  Her head turned to look at the doorway as Spike, followed by Buffy, came back into the room.  
  
He made no mention of her pose or her position, but his warrior’s instincts noted it and approved. C _hit’s smart. . . got good instincts. . . never met a baby slayer before. . . looks like we’ve got one here though._  
  
“How is she?”  Buffy also noted her position and her thoughts were remarkably similar to Spike’s.  _How do we test a potential?_  
  
“Sleeping.”  She shrugged, getting up from the chair, moving toward the window, then peering out behind the curtain.  “Hasn’t moved since you left.”  
  
“Good.”  Buffy moved toward the bed, her hand automatically running through Dawn’s long dark hair.  She sat down on the edge of the bed, her eyes focused on the smaller girl.  The silence stretched between the three of them, the two adults unsure how to start the conversation.  
  
Spike leaned back against the wall, feet spread wide in a deceptively lazy pose, his eyes  locked on the slight figure at the window.  “So, pet, gonna tell us who you are an’ how you knew about all this?”  
  
Buffy hid the smile his question raised, watching Kirsten closely for her reaction.  Kirsten looked down, staring at her feet.  It was obvious she was trying to decide how much she was willing to share and equally clear how uncomfortable she was.  They waited her out though, neither one of them about to push.    
  
Taking a deep breath, Kirsten looked up, her eyes on Dawn and started to speak.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Are you sure about doing this right now?”  Giles turned concerned eyes on Faith.  “It is after four.  Would you rather get some sleep first and then attempt the trance?”  
  
Faith shrugged.  “Nah.  I’m pretty wired.  Wouldn’t be able to sleep or settle down for another couple of hours anyway.  No time like the present.”  
  
“Do you have the sand and incense?”  Anya stared at Giles wondering if they were going to have to make a quick run to the Magic Box for supplies.”  
  
“The sand isn’t as important as the incense.  As long as someone casts a strong circle around Faith, she’ll be fine.”  Giles shook his head, then continued, “I’m sure between us, we can cast a strong ritual circle.”  
  
“We should set up in the living room.”  Wesley suited action to words by getting to his feet and moving toward the room in question.  
  
There wasn’t much free floor space, the Christmas tree and Connor’s portable bed taking up most of the room.  Wesley pushed one of the chairs back, then moved to lift the coffee table.  Faith, catching on to his intentions quickly, grabbed the other end of the table and helped him move it temporarily into the dining room.  
  
Anya and Tara were piling gifts neatly under the tree and Giles was mapping out the room’s cardinal points.  “Faith, I believe you should face east.”  
  
Tara got an incense burner from the fireplace mantle.  “Which. . . what kind of incense do you need?  She finally managed to stutter out the question after a few tense moments.  
  
“Sandalwood, frankincense, ah, juniper, and dragon’s blood.”    
  
She thought for very long moments, an unquiet look upon her features.  “I think we have those.  Let me go look.”    
  
And she was gone in the next moment, following her intuition, her feet flying down the stairs.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Before I start to tell you, can I ask you a couple of questions?”    
  
The two adults shared a look, then Spike responded, “Can ask.  Might not get any answers.”  
  
“I suppose that’s okay.”  She shrugged, then wandered back toward Dawn’s desk.  “How much do you remember about the last couple of months?”  
  
“Not much.  Mem’ries are a bit blurry.”  Again Spike answered her while Buffy stayed silent.  
  
“The reason why I’m here is because of Dawn.”  Kirsten easily hopped up on Dawn’s desk, swinging her feet back and forth.  The idleness was deceptive because her hands clenched the desk’s edge on either side of her, her knuckles showing almost white.  
  
“Why?”  Buffy asked.  
  
“I came back to save her.”  Kirsten had the words out of her mouth before Buffy was finished talking.    She looked away from the sudden watchful wariness in both of them.  “She was with Casey . . . I helped once before when the knights were attacking.”  
  
“What?”  Buffy’s almost yelled question almost blocked out Spike’s low-voiced, “When?”  
  
“Homecoming dance.  The knights attacked and Spike got really messed up.  Totally trashed.”  She paused, her eyes on the floor, unwilling to look at them.  “You were this close to being dust.”  
  
Buffy stared at Kirsten for a long moment then turned anguished eyes on Spike.  “Knew something bad happened.”  
  
“‘M all right now, sweets.”  His eyes met Kirsten’s. “An’ this still doesn’t explain how you knew about this an’ why you’re helpin’ now.”  
  
She sighed, knowing it was time and also knowing she couldn’t get out of telling them.  _But maybe it’ll be easier if I tell them who Dawn is first._ “Look at her.”  
  
Both their eyes focused on the sleeping teen.  “Who does she look like?”  
  
Kirsten fell silent, waiting for them to make the connection.  She’d heard Dawn after they’d gotten her in the room – and it was obvious the other teen knew the truth.  It wasn’t long before Spike looked up, his eyes resting on Buffy while he spoke.  “She’s ours, isn’t she?  Mine and the Slayer’s.”  
  
“Yeah.  She is.”  Kirsten paused, racking her brain for more information for them.  “I don’t know how the monks did it.  But I know somehow the Initiative was also involved.”  She didn’t know everything, all the specifics, since no one had ever told her or Robbie.    
  
Buffy was staring at Dawn, her mind racing.  _Just how much have I forgotten?  I don’t remember anything but jumping. . . what the hell else have I missed?  And why is this happening?_   She looked at Dawn, really looked at her.  _Oh my god.  She does look like Spike.  I know she looks little bit like me, but damn . . . she looks just like him._  
  
Kirsten’s voice broke through her thoughts.  “So now you know.”  That was the easy part.  Trying to pick through all the things she knew, Kirsten stared down at her hands.  “I’m here because I had to help.”  
  
Spike’s mind was jumping to conclusions he wasn’t sure were wrong.  “How long have you known you’re a baby Slayer?”  
  
“My whole life.”  _Oh shit.  So didn’t want to admit that._  
  
Buffy’s eyes bored into hers.  To her credit, Kirsten didn’t flinch.  “Tell me how you knew all along.”  
  
“My parents told me.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
All sorts of witchy supplies were in the basement, in the new bedroom.  Tara wondered why the room was decorated to her taste and even had some of her books and things lying around, but couldn’t take the time to figure it out. . . _and how did I know this stuff was down here and not upstairs?_ Self-explaining it as part of the general wonkiness made it easier to just accept, get the stuff Giles had asked for and move on.  
  
Clutching the requested items to her chest, Tara hurried back up the stairs, to find Faith sitting cross-legged on the living room floor.  She was sort of facing the Christmas tree, her eyes slightly unfocused, her face set and her chest rising and falling steadily.  Giles and Wesley were circling around her, one behind the other muttering protective incantations.  
  
Handing two of the resins to Anya, she and the other girl quickly got the incense lit.   As they got the last one to flare, the chanting stopped and the mingled scents wafted through the air and Giles silently motioned them all out of the living room and into the dining room.  Uncertain of how long it would take Faith to slip into the trance, Giles indicated they should all sit and get comfortable.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“An’ who might they be?”  
 _  
Oh crap.  How stupid am I?  How the hell am I gonna get outta this one . . .  Crap.  Crap. . . this is just craptastic._   Kirsten refused to look at either of them, keeping her eyes downcast and away.  Spike straightened up, then leaned one shoulder against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.  “You grew up here in Sunnyhell, didn’t you?”  
  
It wasn’t really a question and Kirsten was well aware of it.  “Yeah.  Was born here.”  
  
“Talkin’ to you, pet, is like pullin’ teeth.”  Spike’s patience, never one of his strong points, was thinning.  “You’re gonna have to be a bit more forthcoming, princess.”  
  
Buffy glanced over at him, a funny little smile playing on her lips.  “Spike?”  
  
“Yeah, kitten?”  
  
“Take a look at her. . . a real look.”  Buffy’s words echoed Kirsten’s earlier ones and the significance wasn’t lost on Spike.  He did as his mate asked, his eyes focused on the little girl sitting on the desk.  Dark blond hair, doe eyes of changeable color – at the moment they appeared to be a pale aqua – framed with thick dark lashes, high cheekbones and a pert nose with an off-center bump. . . wide mouth. . .   
  
“Wha’?” He hesitated, not certain he was understanding her. “Kitten?”   
  
The Slayer looked at Kirsten.  “You came because Dawn was in trouble.  How did you know?”  
  
“Someone had a vision.”  Her next words were soft, barely audible.  “Please don’t ask me who.”  
  
“Kirsten?”  Buffy got up from the bed, standing in front of the young teen.  “Tell me who your father is.”  
  
Miserable eyes lifted to hers and as hard as Kirsten tried not to, though she couldn’t help herself, her eyes flicked to Spike.  
  
“What year were you born?”  Spike had caught the look, same as Buffy and not giving Kirsten a chance to lie, fired the next question at her.  
  
She answered before she really had time to think.  “2002.”  
  
Buffy caught the panicked look in Kirsten’s eyes and knew.  “It’s all right.  I think I understand, okay not really understand, but I get it.  What you’re saying.  And not saying.”  She half shrugged, a bright sparkle in her eyes.  “Spike?”  
  
He was staring at the two of them, his eyes wide and unblinking.  “Well then.”  
  
And the room fell silent.  
  
Spike was trying to wrap his mind around what their questions had revealed.  _This . . . baby Slayer really was . . . this . . . oh fuck. . . this is the bitty one she’s got all tucked away safe an’ sound . . . does she realize this?  Course she does. . . holy fuckin’. . ._ “Kitten?”  
  
He moved away from the wall, needing to touch her, to feel her beneath his fingers.  At the first touch of her skin, he inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring, jaw clenching.  His fingertips brushed over the almost baby-soft skin of her cheek, his eyes mapping the contours of her face, his nose scenting her closely.  She was tiny, smaller than Buffy and as he searched her features he looked closely for traces of his own.  They were there, but blurred, softened by Buffy’s . . . his jaw clenched again, as it struck him just how much of a risk she’d taken to come back – to save Dawn.  
  
And the implications of _that_ registered in his head seconds after he recognized the risk Kirsten had taken.  Dawn wasn’t  – she wasn’t supposed to have survived her confrontation with Angelus.  The anger and fear and frustration of it all rose up in him, rousing his temper to a pitch he’d never shown any of them before.  Kirsten tensed beneath his fingers and Spike stepped back, giving her room and himself space.  The muscles in his cheek tensed,  and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed for him to hold onto the ragged edges of his temper.  
  
Kirsten’s eyes widened, feeling the anger rising off her father in waves.  Some of it was directed at her, and she knew she was in for a rough night, but there was more to his anger at the moment than just her presence where she shouldn’t be.    
  
Spike practically ground out the words.  “Took an awful risk coming back here, princess.  Only somethin’ terrible should’ve made you think it was worth wrecking everythin’.”    
  
She started to speak and he held up his hand, motioning her to silence.  “Seein’ as how you already admitted _why_ , you can’t deny it.  An’ ‘m not sure I really wanna know _how_ you could manage such a feat, though ‘m not feelin’ real understandin’ at the moment.”  He stabbed a finger at her, forcibly holding back from hitting her.  “Put yourself in danger, you did . . . an’ what bleedin’ insane notion got into your head made you think you could take on Angelus?  By your bitty self?”    
  
His voice was rising and Kirsten felt the first stirrings of real panic flooding through her belly.  “What the bleedin’ hell did you possibly think you’d be able to do?”    
  
Buffy had been silent while Spike approached Kirsten, watching while his eyes focused on this unexpected little girl.  Her hand strayed to her belly.  _Well, not completely unexpected. . ._   It had taken her a minute to follow his line of thought, though the moment he started speaking, she knew his temper was hanging by a thread.  The muscles in his cheek and temple were throbbing, almost pulsing to a non-existent heartbeat.  His finger rose in the air, almost poking at Kirsten and when his voice rose to a near shout, Buffy decided it was time to intervene.    
  
“Spike?”  Her voice was quiet, her hand still covering her belly protectively and she took a step toward him, angling her body away from the bed, moving closer to Kirsten.  “Calm down for a minute.”  
  
His eyes were glittering, swirling with unstated emotions she knew were churning up inside of hm.  “C’mon Spike.  Just for a minute, please, calm down.”  
  
He relaxed fractionally, seeing the concern in her gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from not even a quote, but a painting by Salvador Dali. . . and I’m sure you’ve all seen it.


	44. Shadows of the world appear

**_Book Two.  
  
Chapter 44.  Shadows of the world appear  
  
When one tears away the veils   
and shows them naked,   
people’s souls give off such a pungent smell of decay.   
    Octave Mirbeau, 14 September,The Diary of a Chambermaid.  
  
There was a door to which I found no key:   
There was the veil through which I might not see.   
    Omar Khayyam  
  
Shall any gazer see with mortal eyes,   
Or any searcher know by mortal mind?   
Veil after veil will lift   
-but here must be   
Veil upon veil behind.   
    Edwin Arnold  
  
Shrouded by the night  
and by the secret stair I quickly fled  
The veil concealed my eyes  
while all within lay quiet as the dead  
    Loreena McKennitt, The dark night of the soul,   
    from the album The mask and mirror, 1994_**  
  
  
  
  
 _Slow breaths . . ._  
  
In. . .   
  
Out. . .   
  
_Slow . . ._  
  
She could feel her lungs contracting. . .  _count. . .  two. . . three. . . four. . ._ expanding. . . _six . . . seven. . . eight. . . nine. . ._ contracting _.  
_  
Faith repeated the process until she was focused only on the breathing. . . until awareness of everything else faded.  
  
The Christmas lights blurred, twinkling, fading . . . getting stronger . . .   
  
Turning her head, Faith focused on the baby’s playpen, expecting signs of magic woven around it.  Instead there was nothing, the area was free of any trace of magic.  
  
Rising slowly to her feet, Faith turned, missing when an entire pile of Christmas gifts disappeared from beneath the tree.  
  
Still breathing slowly, on nearly silent bare feet, Faith paced through the living room, making her way past the tree into the kitchen.  
  
Nothing was out of place, everything was where it belonged.  _Makes sense, didn’t really expect to find anything in the kitchen.  
_  
The voices in the dining room fell silent as her footsteps echoed on the tiles.  
  
The rasp and hiss of air escaping from her lungs was loud in her own ears, the pounding and humming of blood through her body a steady back-beat.  White noise filled her head like the echoing static of seashells against covered ears.  
  
She felt insubstantial, achingly unreal in a place of make believe.  Nothing was real . . . not the floor beneath her feet nor the walls enclosing her.  Passing her hand in front of her face took ages and yet it was over in an eye’s blink.  
  
A grocery list on the refrigerator wavered, the concise clear handwriting morphing into a more feminine hand, curled and flowing.  
  
Steps around the counter, hand sliding along the top.   _This is real . . . solid. . .  
_  
More footsteps.  
  
The dining room doorway loomed ahead of her, the lintel feet away.  Reaching out a hand, the molding was suddenly in her grasp.  
  
Eyes closed . . . open. . . t _he air is thick, almost tangible._ . . muted colors flickered and faded, then lightning flashed, blinding her eyes, burning images into her brain.  
  
 _Giles_   . . . lights wavered growing . . . stronger, then fading . . .   He was covered in magics.  
  
 _Wesley_. . . lines of fatigue bracketed his mouth and he stared, silent . . . magic covered him, but fainter, less intense. . .   
  
_Anya  . . . is that her name?_ Her features grew veined, the skin hardening, changing. . . demonic . . .  then flashed, reverting back to human . . . and the magics were similar to Wesley’s sitting lightly upon her. . .   
  
_Tara_. . . unwittingly, Faith reeled back as if struck . . .  _darkness . . . wrapped all around her_. . . covered in whatever this was Faith moved through it, pushing her hand toward the miasma, meeting resistance. . .  It clung to her, coating the other girl like a second skin.  
  
Anya started to speak, but Giles laid a hand over hers, stopping her comments, while he gauged Faith’s reactions.    
  
Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears.  Faith waved her hand around Tara, appearing to the others as if she were trying to push something off her.   “Bad stuff here.  All over her.”  
  
Slowly shaking her head, Faith moved away from them, almost gliding into the hallway.  Her foot on the bottom step, she turned back to look at Wesley and Giles.  “Watcher man.  You better follow.  Major badness up here.”  
  
With that she turned back to toward the steps.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The hold he had on his temper was fraying by the second, the rage feeding on itself, building toward an explosion of volcanic proportions.  Lacking a proper outlet, Spike fell back on anxious pacing, his eyes darting between the three females in the room.  The real implications of Kirsten’s admissions were hitting him hard.  
  
 _Dawn shouldn’t be on that bed._  
  
Buffy was staring at him, watching him carefully for signs of the explosive blow-up she knew was brewing.  Anger and fear were swirling thickly in the room, fueled by the sole male.  It angered him, she knew, the inability to protect those he viewed as his, and this was no exception.  Buffy hadn’t missed Kirsten’s admission about Dawn – it had been in the back of her head when the beepers had sounded, the feeling worsening as the night progressed.  
  
Dawn was supposed to be . . .  _Gone_.  
  
Spike swept past her, tension radiating from every muscle.  His elbow clipped her shoulder and Buffy reached out a hand, catching the back of his shirt in her fingers.  The silence was palpable as he turned back to look at her.  His blue eyes swam with emotions, some of them she readily flinched from unwilling to go there just yet.  Her lower lip quivered and in the next instant, his arms had curled around her, enclosing her in his embrace.  
  
Neither one spoke.  
  
There was nothing either one of them could say.  Too much had happened for either to make sense of it, too much information had been uncovered in the last few hours . . .  Spike’s jaw flexed, as he fought off the tears that were threatening.  
  
This was his place, here, now, with Buffy, surrounded by each other and somehow, some way, something evil, some force had tried separating them.  Buffy’s fingers rubbed restlessly against the fabric of his tee-shirt, her face buried against the crook of his neck.  His hand slid down from shoulder to waist, dipping beneath the pajamas she wore, calloused fingertips brushing the soft skin at the small of her back.  
  
His eyes focused on the bed, intently gazing at the sleeping teen.  Dawn was nestled beneath the blanket, her long hair dark against the light sheets.  _I have a daughter  . . ._ he blinked, glancing over at Kirsten.  T _wo daughters. . .  An’ could’ve lost them both tonight.  Not gonna happen again. . ._  
  
A low rumble sounded in his chest and each one of his companions reacted.  
  
Buffy knew that sound.    _Uh oh . . . temper’s up again. . .  
_  
Kirsten knew it . . . and shrunk back away from it, knowing that anger, if it wasn’t released soon, would have only one outlet. . .   
  
Dawn shifted in her drug induced sleep, whimpering for his attention.   
  
Spike tightened his arms around Buffy, laying a kiss on her temple, then released her.  Short steps took him to Dawn’s bedside and his hand rested lightly on her injured cheek.  He whirled, reaching for his discarded duster, fixing a stern look on Kirsten.  “Best still be here when I get back, princess, not done with you yet.”  
  
Wide-eyed, she shook her head, knowing to disagree would only make things worse.  
  
Buffy’s voice saying his name stopped him at the door.  “Spike?”  
  
“Be back in a bit, Slayer.  Go on now to bed.”  
  
“Spike?”  He froze, waiting for her to say something, knowing she was going to try and talk him out of leaving.  When no further words came, he half turned to look at her.  His raised eyebrow broke the silence. Her concerned whisper nearly undid his resolve to leave. “Don’t . . . please be careful . . . and come home soon.”  
  
He shook his head again.  “Don’t wait up.”  
  
And he was gone.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Faith heard his footsteps before she started up the steps, the heavy tread of his boots pounding loudly, the soundwaves thrumming against her bare feet.  
  
She paused, staring up at the top of the stairs, her hand resting on the newel post.  Spike hesitated at the landing, spying her waiting at the bottom.  He eyed her quizzically and it took him a moment to realize she was staring past him, through him, not at him as he first thought.  
  
Her eyes were unfocused, pupils dilated and he sniffed, idly noting her slowed heartbeat and the unmistakable smell of incense.  Abruptly, his temper soared higher.  _More fuckin’ magic.   Will these people never fuckin learn. . .  
_  
The patter of light footsteps sounded behind him and Spike knew it was her.  Buffy’s voice was a bare whisper, just his name on a breath, yet it was enough to halt him in his tracks more effectively than Faith’s odd presence.  
  
Ignoring the silent figure at the bottom of the steps, Spike half turned to face Buffy and was unprepared for her pleading expression or words.  “Don’t go.  Please, Spike, the sun’s almost up. . . you’ll get caught and I won’t be . . . please.  Don’t go.”  
  
“Kitten. . .” He couldn’t explain to her, he knew she understood his need for violence, to get rid of the tension, to vent his frustration in violence and bloodshed.  Spike shook his head, negating her request.  
  
“Spike?”  She reached for him, her small hand grazing his chest.  
  
Unconsciously he leaned into her and they both forgot their audience.  “Buffy, just go to bed, I’ll be back in a bit.”  
  
His hand brushed her hair away from her face, the touch feather soft despite the rage and repressed power lining his muscles.  “Need to go out.  I’ll be back.”  
  
Faith’s increased heart rate and heavier breathing caught his attention, though it was her soft exclamation that drew the attention of all of them.  An involuntary tear slid from her eye, her body’s defense against the bright light shining between the two superhuman beings at the top of the stairs.  Giles appeared at her right, Wesley just behind him, his eyes following Faith’s line of sight to the tableau above them.  To his eyes, it was merely Buffy and Spike, caught in a moment, where no one existed except the two of them.  For Faith, they were bathed in a golden light, her hand resting on his chest and his on her shoulder.  The light was strong, like sunlight breaking through dark clouds, and it was then she realized there _was_ darkness surrounding them.  Even as she watched, though, the light broke through, momentarily overpowering it.    
  
“I’m not going after him.  Not now.”  Neither one had to voice the name to know who Spike meant.  
  
“Promise?”  She stared into his eyes, knowing he couldn’t hide his intentions from her.  
  
A wry grin split his lips, “Yeah.  I’ll promise.”    
  
It was as much of a guarantee she would get from him.  Spike needed to go, but he wouldn’t seek out Angel on his own.  Unspoken between them was the knowledge that if the two vampires accidently encountered each other, Spike would not back down.  And she understood him, understood why he needed to go.  She nodded her head once, leaning up to place a kiss on his lips.  “Remember that.”  
  
She let him go.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
They’d waited, bodies poised for action the moment the traitor appeared.  
  
Watched while others arrived, retreating back into shadow, ignoring the humans that weren’t prey.  The youngest hounds grew restless, prowling, tails twitching, soft whines emerging from their throats, almost asking for permission to attack.  
  
A low, rolling growl from the alpha was the only response and as one the hounds slunk down to submissive positions.  
  
A door slammed somewhere inside and the alpha pricked his ears, then relaxed.  
  
Another noise. . . a human departed. . . the alpha male.  
  
The alpha female growled a question at her mate, who just barked once in answer.  
  
She loped off, following the vampire to the end of the block, then disappeared after him.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The two Slayers stared at each other, recognition of the moment flaring between them.  On some level, Buffy was aware of what Faith was attempting and she approved.  However, there was another part of her, a rather large part, that resented Faith for her presence, for her abilities and for what she’d just witnessed.  Buffy hated being vulnerable, hated showing any kind of weakness and Faith had just viewed a very needy Buffy practically pleading with Spike not to go.  Anger flared within her and she came very close to picking a fight with any one of the three people at the bottom of the stairs.  
  
Faith could almost see the anger rising from Buffy and for once held her tongue.  Much like Kirsten had done earlier, she chose not to comment on the intimacy she’d just seen.  There were some things that defied commentary.  So instead Faith just stared at her counterpart, trying to discover what was the current spell and what was not.  It was easier to see, now that Spike was gone, what tethered them together.  Colors flickered and faded around Buffy, sickly browns and oily greys Faith had no trouble identifying as part of the current spell.  A jagged flash of arcing white light pulsed and Faith was forced to close her eyes in reaction.  Like a negative in her mind’s eye, the outline of Buffy’s form flashed against a black background, then behind her she could just make out Spike’s shadow.  
  
Opening her eyes again, Faith stared up at Buffy, and the lights belonging to her and Spike flashed gold and silver, forcing Faith to focus once more.  Trailing away from Buffy, like some stream of continuous light, was a triple band – braided together and running like liquid gold along the wall, down past her and, as she turned to follow its path, out the door.  Assuming that was the mystical manifestation of her link with Spike, Faith involuntarily reached for it.  The light flowed through her, uncaring of her interference or presence.  With her hand playing through the light, Faith turned her head slightly to look up at Buffy.    
  
“It’s beautiful.”  
  
The exasperation on Buffy’s face was replaced with curiosity.  “What is?”  
  
The answer was simple.  “You and Spike.”  
  
At the mention of his name, the light intensified, pulsing with warmth and arcing little silver sparks.  Her lip quivered, tears sprung to her eyes and all Buffy could do was nod her head in acknowledgment of Faith’s declaration.  
  
Faith’s next words stole her breath.  “Too much bad stuff though.  Any idea who’d wanna break up you two?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  More fear than she was willing to admit to colored her voice and Buffy shook her head.  “I just don’t know.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The stomping sound of his boots rang softly in the pre-dawn morning as Spike stalked his way through the still dark streets of Sunnydale.  He hated this town, some days.  Really truly loathed it with a deep and abiding passion.  
  
Every plan, every good thing, always got completely fucked up in this place.  Nothing ever went smoothly.  
  
He paused, his ears pricking at the faint sounds of a scuffle going on off to his left.  Even as he listened, the sounds died away, making him sigh with disgust. _Can’t even find m’self a decent fight.  
_  
The two fledges he’d staked weren’t any more than appetizers, teasers, merely whetting  his appetite for destruction.  Violence . . . need to beat the livin’ hell outta somethin’.  
  
 _Not much night left. . . maybe I should go back  . . ._   Spike half-turned, then thought better of it.  He couldn’t go back to Revello Drive – not just yet.  If he went back now, he’d only end up hurting Buffy and that was something he wasn’t willing to do.  They could’ve sparred in the basement, but the knowledge of her pregnancy held him back.  He needed to unleash the raging beast within him, not restrain it.  
  
And it wasn’t just his demonic nature calling out for blood – the long dead Victorian poet was also screaming for blood – and not just any blood.  
  
His whole being was in accordance with just whose blood needed spilling.  
  
Angelus . . .   
  
_Fucker needs to bleed.  Needs to hurt the way m’girls do. . ._  
  
Spike didn’t understand what drove the older vampire to constantly, consistently attack those who garnered his attention.  Whether it was Drusilla or Darla or Buffy or countless others that caught his eye. . .   Why was it that he wanted to eradicate them?  
  
Even as a fledge, he hadn’t so little self control.  The only unthinking indiscriminate act he’d committed had been done out of concern.  He hadn’t wanted to hurt her – had, in fact, been trying to save her.  His actions had backfired horrifically though his intentions had been of the best.  
  
And why was he thinking about this now?  Almost visibly throwing off his introspection, Spike stalked off towards the Alibi Room, hoping for some action there.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Lawson slipped quietly into the mansion, hiding from prying and questioning eyes.  He had spent the hours between the fight in the hospital and now hunting, looking for, not just a meal, but answers as well.  The evidence of his own eyes startled him.  His memory of William the Bloody was vivid, a vampire without remorse or conscience, inflicting bloodshed and mayhem on a small group of men stuck at the bottom of the ocean.  
  
Yet now, here he was, fighting alongside the Slayer . . . which just – Lawson was having real trouble wrapping that thought around his brain.  The famed Slayer of Slayers, who’d battled more slayers than some vampires had ever even seen, was fighting beside one.    
  
Sam headed for the room he’d commandeered for his own, uncaring of the minions he passed, effectively ignoring their presence.  Angelus had instituted a rotating watch, to insure neither the Slayer nor any of her people would be able to slip into the mansion again, so there was always someone awake, watching the doors.  Ray, the vampire who’d luckily missed the rescue, was in charge of that and he and two others were walking about on silent feet.    
  
His room was quiet, dark, floor length curtains covering the windows and he dropped his peacoat on the only chair, running his hands through his hair in the same motion.  He paused when the scent of blood and patchouli reached his nose and he looked around sharply in the dark, seeking the source of both scents.    
  
“Why are you here?”  He could barely make out her pale form in the darkness, covered as she was in dark clothing, blending into the dark curtains.  
  
A low quiet laugh sounded in the air between them.  “Question is where’ve you been. . . out chasing little girls?”  
  
He moved further into the room, sitting on the bed to unlace his boots.  “Why do you care where I’ve been?”  
  
“Questions within questions, dear boy. . . perhaps one of us should answer.”  She moved away from the window then, her eyes on his back, watching him closely for signs of unease.  
  
Lawson stilled, all senses alert as she moved closer.  “So which one of us is going to answer first?”  
  
Cool fingers caressed the back of his neck, running down his back, across his shoulder.  “Must be you . . . should always take care to answer big sister’s question.  So tell me, baby brother, where were you?”  She paused, coming round to face him, her large dark blue eyes boring into his.  Sam ducked his head, avoiding her mesmerizing gaze.  “Come now, sweets, tell me true . . .”  
  
“Drusilla. . .  What do you want?”  Lawson stiffened at her giggle.  
  
“Want you . . .”  She slid into his lap, her fingers playing with the hair on the back of his neck, long nails scratching his skin.  
  
It took him a moment to realize what she was implying and he tightened his hands, pushing her away from him.  “What the hell?  Drusilla. . .  What about Angel?”  
  
“Daddy’s sleeping and his baby girl wants to play.”  She stroked his face, her nails drawing blood.  
  
“He’d kill me. And I don’t want to be dusty, so what’s the real reason you’re here?”  Sam didn’t believe for one second that Drusilla was here because she wanted sex – there had to be more than _that_ on her mind and he knew the least of what she was trying to discover was where he’d been earlier.    
  
“What Daddy doesn’t know. . . pretty kitty wants to play. . .” Dropping her hand beneath her, Drusilla palmed his cock, feeling it lengthen despite his protests.  Her grin widened, a low growl emerging from her throat and her tongue licked a path across his cheek.  “Delicious you are. . . come play with sissy. . .”  
  
“He’ll be able to smell us, Drusilla, and he’s not stupid.”  Trying one last time to force her away, Lawson dug his fingers into her upper arm.   “This is not a good idea.”  
  
Giving way, she allowed him the momentary illusion that his strength equaled hers, then slowly began pushing him back.  “Now, now. . .   Little boys shouldn’t hurt pretty girls, especially their sisters.”    
  
Before he knew it, Sam was flat on his back, staring up in the beguiling dark indigo eyes of Drusilla.  His last coherent thought was he needed to leave before Angelus smelled what they were about to do.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Flashes of light, muted now and slower than before, flickered in Faith’s eyes as she walked the second floor hallway.  The trance was beginning to loosen its hold on her and she knew there wasn’t much time left.  Saying as much to Giles and Buffy as they trailed behind her, Faith hesitated outside the door to the room that used to belong to Joyce.  
  
“Last stop, kiddies.”  
  
Neither of her companions spoke, hoping her concentration would hold for just a bit longer.  Buffy hadn’t been surprised when Faith mentioned the magics surrounding the two teens, knowing what she did about both girls.  She’d been more surprised to find Connor’s space was free of any magical influence.  His crib was a “free zone”, although she was surprised and dismayed to discover her bed was surrounded by magics, but again, it appeared most of it was being blocked by the mating.  The last place to look in was behind the closed door, where Willow was currently sleeping.  
  
Faith hesitated so long beside the door her two companions thought perhaps she’d come out of the trance.  Lifting stricken dilated eyes toward Buffy, Faith shook her head.  “Can’t . . . too much in there.”  
  
It was only because of the blond’s supernatural reflexes that she was able to catch Faith before she hit the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from one of my favorite poems by Alfred Lord Tennyson, and probably one of his more famous works (The Lady of Shalott)


	45. Mingled yarn

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter 45.  Mingled yarn  
  
I have realized that the past and future are real illusions,   
that they exist in the present,   
which is what there is and all there is.   
    Alan Watts  
  
A hallucination is a fact, not an  
error; what is erroneous is   
a judgment based upon it.  
    Bertrand Russell  
  
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn,   
good and ill together.   
    All’s Well That Ends Well, act iv, sc. iii   
  
If our web be framed with rotten handles,   
when our loom is well nigh done,   
our work is new to begin.   
God send the weaver true prentices again,   
and let them be denizens.   
    Elizabeth I, The Sayings of Queen Elizabeth, ch. 11,   
    by Frederick Chamberlin   
  
Fiction is like a spider’s web,   
attached ever so lightly perhaps,   
but still attached to life at all four corners.   
Often the attachment is scarcely perceptible.   
    Virginia Woolf, A Room Of One’s Own, ch. 3 **_  
  
  
  
Jenner hadn’t planned on staying long on the hellmouth, and anticipating the possible need for a quick getaway, left his own personal ship waiting at the harbor.  He’d spent some time in London, when its hellmouth had been active and unlike most of his brethren, he’d hated it.  The chaos, the constant bickering and jockeying for position and not to mention the near constant influx of otherworldly demons – it had played havoc with his unlife.  Jenner preferred controlling his own place, absolute control, allowing no others refuge in Plymouth and its surroundings.  Which was why he always had his own transportation.  
  
With only a half dozen handpicked minions, Jenner had effectively cleared out Sunnydale’s waterfront in the twenty-four hours since his arrival.  
  
 _Angelus is an idiot.  Wasting time playing games with children, focusing on tormenting the Slayer._   Used wisely, a Slayer’s presence was a benefit to a prudent master vampire.  From the sources he’d spent the last few hours questioning, Jenner had discovered the current Slayer’s history – and her connection to both Angelus and William.  
  
Staring out into the pre-dawn sky, Jenner contemplated his possible options.  He could jump the gun and blindly side with Angelus while keeping his options for escape open – or he could wait, biding his time and see what would happen.  William, while impetuous and impulsive, had the uncanny knack of always surviving, if not coming out the better of any situation.  Which was, he supposed, part of the problem.  In the past, Jenner had always chosen the path of prudency, and thus, losing out to William.  
  
 _Time to make a choice  . . ._   Dismissing his minions, Jenner prepared to settle his large bulk in the king-sized bed.  _I’ll sleep on it.  Another day or so won’t change anything. . . except give me more information._  
  
Realizing he’d already inadvertently reached a decision, Jenner stripped down and climbed beneath the silk sheets.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike slammed back another shot of bourbon, carefully watching the rest of the bar patrons, his eyes constantly scanning the faces.  He had no idea what he was looking for, but he knew, sooner or later one of the human-looking demons was going to trip up and cause a fracas.  He was counting on it.  
  
His wait wasn’t a long one.  
  
By the time he’d finished half the bottle, a fight had broken out between a coil’ach-dubh and two vampires.  Waiting a bit, until all the surrounding demons got involved, Spike let a grin cross his features.  
  
Taking advantage of the chaos, Spike dove into the fray, attacking both sides with impunity.  He didn’t care which side was right – didn’t care about anything except easing his own temper and anger.  Throwing caution – and punches – to the wind, Spike gleefully fought, reveling in the pointless violence.  
  
Completely pushing everything else from his mind, Spike howled with glee as he used fist and fangs on the bar patrons.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Giles lifted Faith from Buffy’s arms, his eyes narrowed in thought, wondering if he’d been fooled by her insistence she was okay enough to attempt the trance.  What concerned him though, was the deeper question of what had actually caused her collapse.  
  
 _Was it the amount of magics in the house?  Or was it the rebound effects of all these magics? Or is it something as simple as fatigue?_   He had no way of knowing either, or also knowing exactly what Faith had uncovered.  What he could glean from Faith’s few comments wasn’t enough to establish who was the focal point or from where the spell originated.  
 _  
Not enough information._ Though it was telling where she’d lost consciousness, as were her last words.  Giles thought about mentioning what Faith had said when he caught Wesley hiding a yawn.  
  
Buffy motioned him downstairs, where he and Wesley set up Faith on the couch.  Sharing a look with his fellow former watcher, Giles motioned him away from the two Slayers.  “She collapsed outside the room shared by Tara and Willow.”  
  
“Did she give any indication of what she was seeing just before?”  Wesley questioned the older man.  
  
“No.  Nothing clear at all.”  
  
Wesley looked back over his shoulder to glance at the two girls.  Buffy was laying a blanket over Faith’s inert form and she swayed, fatigue stealing over her.  “There isn’t much we can do now.  It’s nearly morning.  Perhaps we should all just get some sleep.”  
  
There wasn’t much else they _could_ do.  They were all reeling on their feet and he had to agree with Wesley.  “Agreed.  The bedroom downstairs is currently unoccupied. Do you want it?”  
  
“No, Rupert, you go ahead.  I’ll stay up here.”  Wesley shook his head, motioning toward the chair.  
  
Giles raised an eyebrow.  “That can’t possibly be comfortable.”  
  
“It won’t be.  But I think one of us should be up here.  It’s all right.”  He shook his head one more time.  “Go ahead.”  
  
Nodding his acquiescence, Giles turned his attention to the three young women who were still awake.  “Why don’t you all go on to bed.  There’s nothing more we can do tonight. . . er, this morning.”  
  
Buffy started to protest, but a yawn stole through her and she shook her head, letting out a husky chuckle.  “Yeah.  I’m just gonna get a bottle for C-man, coz I’m sure he’ll be up soon.”  She motioned for Tara and Anya to go ahead.  “The room downstairs is empty, Anya, why don’t you crash here.”  
  
Yawning heavily, her natural exuberance weighed down by exhaustion, Anya nodded sleepily and trudged toward the kitchen and the basement steps.  
  
Starting to protest a bit, Tara looked at all of them, thought better of what she was about to say, then headed for her own bed.  
  
Sleepily Buffy followed after Anya, getting a bottle ready for Connor, finding her way upstairs.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Surveying the carnage around him, Spike inhaled deeply, the varying scents of demon blood heavy in the air.  His grin widened, and he swallowed his satisfaction, stretching his neck from side to side.  
  
The anger and tension was eased, released in the unabashed violence of a simple mindless bar brawl.  Spike didn’t care – didn’t matter to him at all – who bore the brunt of his anger, all that mattered was he hadn’t resorted to sparring with Buffy.  And he kept his promise.  He hadn’t sought out Angelus, stayed away from any possible confrontation with the older vampire.  
  
Grabbing a couple of bottles of bourbon from behind the bar, Spike gauged the distance to the nearest sewer cap, grinning madly when he realized there was one in the alley just outside the back door.  Heading out the back, Spike grabbed a discarded jacket from the floor, growling out a warning to the barkeep as he shouted something about payment.  
  
Not once in his nocturnal wanderings had he even caught a glimpse of the she-bitch hound that had followed him patiently from Revello Drive.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _It’s nine-thirty.  
  
Sun’s up.  It’s broad daylight outside and Spike’s not back yet.  Where the hell is he?  _Buffy fiddled idly with the blankets tucked around her and Connor, debating with herself whether to go out looking for him.  She’d only catnapped in the short hours since she’d come upstairs.  Connor had been stirring and she’d given him the bottle, cradling him in her arms, her mind not on her tiny company.  
  
 _Where the hell is he?  He promised._   Refusing to believe something bad may have happened to him, she focused instead on his disregard for convention, most especially his refusal to hide from sunlight.  She absently kissed the top of the baby’s head and closed her eyes for a brief moment.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Kirsten rolled over, disturbed by the whimpers coming from Dawn.  She’d been stirring for the last couple of minutes, the drug-induced sleep beginning to wear off.  Her previous  sleep had been deep, Dawn unmoving and silent nestled beneath the comforter, despite the noise in her room of three people talking.  Instead of going to get Buffy, Kirsten decided to deal with Dawn’s distress on her own.  Judging by the noises, Dawn was having nightmares.  Figuring any comfort was better than none, Kirsten left her spot on the floor, climbing into the bed next to her.  
  
“Shhhh, Dawnie, I’ve got you.”  
  
Dawn whimpered some more, moving about restlessly, but when Kirsten reached for her hand, she settled down and fell back to sleep.  
  
It wasn’t long before Kirsten also gave into sleep again.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The house was quiet when he ran in the front door, Wesley asleep in the armchair, Faith sprawled out on the couch.  He guessed Rupert and demon-girl were somewhere about, since the Watcher’s car was still parked in front.  
  
Spike took the stairs two at a time, dropping his duster on the newel post as he practically ran past it.  Buffy was facing her bedroom door, eyes closed in slumber and arms around the sprog, who was also asleep.  
  
A smile broke out over his features, as he took in the sight before him.  The fiercest Slayer he’d ever fought was tucked up in bed, an innocent tiny infant tight against her side, both of them sleeping peacefully.  The fact he wasn’t there for any other reason than to crawl in beside her didn’t give his demonic nature a pause.  
  
She was his; he was just as equally hers.  
  
Connor stirred, mewling softly in his sleep and Spike gently lifted him from the circle of the Slayer’s arms.  The baby quieted, knocking against his shoulder with a tightly closed fist, which uncurled at the feel of Spike’s finger rubbing over it.  
  
Giving the boy a moment to snuggle against him, Spike made certain the curtains were closed over the windows.  Buffy stirred, rolling over to curl closer into the pillows and blankets.  
  
Figuring he had a bit more time, Spike put the baby down and headed for the shower.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She was dreaming, visions of the past night replaying themselves over and over in her tired mind.  Those last moments with Spike, the vision of Angel choking Dawn. . .  Buffy tried swimming toward wakefulness, away from the painful images.  
  
Fighting the pull of sleep, she opened her eyes when the bed creaked behind her and strong arms wormed their way around her body.  Buffy stiffened, relaxing when a deep whispered voice sounded in her ear.  “Mornin’, goldilocks.”  
  
“Hey.”  Her voice was equally soft, husky from lack of sleep.  He was spooned up behind her, one leg wedging its way between hers.  
  
“Miss me?”  Tiny kisses were traced over her shoulder as he nuzzled her.  
  
“Thought you were gonna get stuck.”  She rolled over, sliding beneath his angled form.  
  
His left hand trailed down her side from shoulder to hip, resting at the curve, his thumb rubbing lazy circles over the softly jutting hipbone.  
  
Buffy’s hand stroked his hard bicep, noting how small it looked against his strong arm.  
  
“Wasn’t gonna get caught, knowing you were waitin’ for me.”  
  
She glanced up at his face, the snarky retort dying on her lips.  He was staring down at her with a look in his eyes she couldn’t name.  Awe, adoration and fierce love combined, shining with enough force to steal her breath.  
  
“I love you.”  His fingers stroked the side of her face, eyes roving over her features.  “Woke up all out of place this mornin’.  Arms felt empty, like part of me was missing, lost.”  Spike paused, watching as she shook her head in agreement.  “Felt like. . . somethin’ vital was gone.  Saw you sitting there in the shop, an’ knew it was you.  Don’t want that ever again.”  
  
Her hand caressed his cheek while he spoke, tracing the small lines of stress and fatigue at the corners of his eye.  
  
Spike grabbed her hand, pressing a kiss into her palm.  “Would cross the desert for you.”  
  
His next words were silenced by her lips, then she pulled away, whispering softly, “You’ve already done so much for me.”  
  
“You’re m’whole world, kitten.”  Tears welled up in her eyes and he caught one on the tip of a finger.  “Hey now, what’s this for?”  
  
“Don’t leave me. . .”  Buffy choked up, unable to say more, hoping he understood.  
  
He did.  “Not goin’ anywhere.”  
  
His hand settled on the valley between her breasts, resting over her heart.  “Everything ‘ve ever wanted is here, with you.”  
  
Buffy reached for him, drawing his mouth down for a kiss.  “We’ve done this before. . . how come we don’t remember it?”  
  
“Must be the spell.  ‘Coz I’d bloody remember bein’ here with you, doing this . . .”  His fingers found a nipple, stroking it to hardness.  “Or this.”  
  
That same hand slid down to cup her mound, parting her pussy, sliding roughly against her clit.  Her hips arched up into his touch, legs parting to grant him better access.  
  
She was already slick, aroused by just his nearness.  Questing fingers honed in on her slippery channel, sliding in and out, his thumb pressing heavily on her clit.  Panting softly through her opened mouth, Buffy gasped out his name.  
  
Every touch set off sparks.  His touch on her nipples sent shockwaves straight to her womb.  His fingers buried in her pussy had her writhing, clenching, tightening her inner muscles around them.   
  
“Spike. . . need you.”  Her hand grabbed his wrist and the play of his muscles as he thrust his fingers inside her made her head spin.  
  
“Mmmmmm.”  His head dropped down so he could nuzzle her neck and the vibration of his voice had her gasping desperately for air.   
  
Her fingers dug into his arms, nails scoring half-moon lines of red wherever she held on tightly.  Spike slid between her legs, his hips parting her thighs, hard cock nestled against her warm wetness.    
  
Buffy pushed her feet up, rubbing her toes against his thighs, the angle giving him better access to her center.    
  
Mouths met, lips and tongue melding together. Hands groped and soothed, cool flesh meeting overheated skin.  Buffy couldn’t stop the tremors coursing through her, didn’t want to stop the delicious sensations of Spike’s hands touching her everywhere.  They were quiet, neither one able to talk, words beyond them.    
  
Inch by agonizingly slow inch Spike slid his cock inside her, her wet core swallowing his cool hard length.  Halting when he was fully embedded inside her, Spike fought for control.  She was molten silk, her warmth surrounding, engulfing him.  Living, breathing, pulsing velvet walls enclosed his impossibly hard cock, sucking him deeper inside with every thrust.  Every nerve sparked with fire, the slippery slide of his flesh into hers inducing sensations he’d thought beyond him.    
  
She was fire.  Burning embers coiled in an ever tightening vice.  
  
“Fuck. . .  Love you, love you. . . f’rever. . .”  Voice like rough, raw chocolate whiskey rasped against her ear, Spike’s words triggering internal spasms in her womb.  
  
He was marble, living, almost breathing, soft, oh-so-touchable . . . thrusting in . . . driving . . .  His hard cock filling her completely, nudging her higher and higher with each pulsing thrust.   
  
“Oh god . . . oh god. . .  Spike. . . gonna. . . need to . . . _please_.”  Breathy half whispers, little girl husky with desire drifted over his skin, notching his answering need higher.  
  
“Never felt. . . _oh **fuck**_!”   Her legs wrapped around his waist, holding him tight.  His pelvic bone hit her clit and her inner walls rippled over him and his spine arched, taut muscles clenching in response, overloading his body.  
  
Reeling up, his knees spread her wider, opening her up to his heated gaze, changing his angle of entry.  Cool hands circled her hips, raising her up to meet his slow thrusts.  Sapphire dark eyes focused on the spot where their bodies met, mesmerized by the sight  of her pussy spread open, his for the taking.  “Fuckin’ . . . god. . . mine. . . never. . .  B’fore.”  
  
His thumbs spread her wider, tensing over her aching clit and Buffy mewled, whimpering out her need for him, her nails scratching along his arms.    
  
“C’mon. . . baby. . . fuck. . . aaugghh”    Circling her clit with both thumbs, Spike felt the impossible to miss beginnings of her orgasm rip through her and clenched his jaw, desperate to hold on until she fell.    
  
Glazed green gold eyes lifted to his, a soft whisper breaking through his labored breathing and he crashed with her over the edge.    
  
“Love you. . . always.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _“Nothing so dire as the end of the world, but it is an end.  Or rather it could be.”  A deep rumbling voice filled her head, it was too dark to see who’d spoken, the accent, though, gave an indication who it might be, though she wasn’t sure.  “Then again it could just be a different beginning.”  
  
“Cryptic much?”  Trying to get her bearings in the absolute darkness surrounding her, Faith turned in a circle, one hand stretched out away from her.  
  
“How will I know which it is?”  
  
“Now isn’t the time.  There is much more to come.”  
  
“They are coming.”  
  
Buffy’s voice came out of the darkness and Faith turned sharply in that direction.  “Who’s coming?”  
  
“Not too much longer.”  
  
“Christ B, not you too.  Could you cut a girl a break and tell me without playing the Riddler?”  
  
The darkness faded and Faith could see Buffy standing beside a crib, her hands resting on the sides.  “What’s the matter, Faith?  Not up to playing guess my line?”  
  
“No.  Not really.”  
  
Buffy shrugged, smoothing the blankets, her eyes on the bedding.  “He’s Angel’s son, you know.  But the others won’t be.”  
  
“Others?”  Faith stared at her counterpart, watching as she restlessly fiddled with the blankets.  “B?  What are you telling me?”  
  
Another voice sounded in the dark, this one coming from somewhere behind Faith.  “Nothing you shouldn’t already know.  You have to remember all of this, what we tell you.  The hardest thing to face is when your friends betray you.”  
  
“Friends?  What friends?”  Faith whirled around, coming face to face with a short guy with dark hair and eyes and a sad smile on his face.  “I don’t have a whole lot of friends, ya know.”  
  
“Who said anything about your friends?  Maybe it’s the monsters who have friends.”  The little guy walked around her, facing Buffy, then glanced up at Faith.  “You really should trust her a bit more.  She’s not so bad.  Saved my life once or twice.”  
  
“It’s up to us to protect them.”  Buffy finally looked at her, a strange look in her eyes.  “From the monsters.”  
  
“Monsters?  You mean the bad guys, vamps and demons, right?”  
  
“Sometimes the monsters are a bit closer.  Sometimes they don’t wear a different face.  You need to warn them. . .  You need to wake up and warn them. . . c’mon, Faith, wake up.”  
_  
She woke with a lurch, eyes wide open and wary, trying to remember where she was.  For a long minute, Faith couldn’t make the connection between where she’d woken up the day before and just now. . .   And then it all came back to her.    
  
The increasingly ominous dreams and the seeds of fear they engendered; the urgency to get back to Sunnydale and finally, the harrowing hours before sleep.  
  
Everything came flooding back.    
  
 _Angel’s lost his soul . . . and the kid is his.  
  
Buffy and Spike, so didn’t expect that.  
  
Blond girl. . . Tara. . . hey, wait a sec.  
  
Where the hell is Willow?_  
  
Faith got up from the tangle of blankets and stood over Wesley’s sleeping body.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Pain radiated everywhere, breathing hurt.  Not moving hurt.  Not breathing hurt.  
  
Dawn slowly opened her eyes, hazily focusing on the wall opposite her bed.  There was no break in awareness, no waking up to a moment of forgetfulness.  The memories of what happened the night before were there, full blown and in technicolor, replaying constantly in her mind.  
  
Angel’s face as he squeezed her throat, blank and uncaring.  
  
Casey’s set jaw as he squared off against the face of her own personal demon.  
  
Somehow, she’d always known Angel would be the one – even knowing her childhood memories were false – the fear of being held by Angelus was enough to freeze her heart.  
  
Casey . . . silent tears slid from her eyes, pooling into the pillow beneath her head.  _It’s my fault.  I should have warned him, told him . . . something._    A shudder broke through her and Dawn stuffed her fist into her mouth.  
  
She was aware of someone in the bed behind her and for a moment – a very short moment, she was confused.  Then she remembered a vague vision of Kirsten fighting alongside Spike.   
  
Dawn struggled to sit up, fighting the nauseating pain every inch.  She wanted nothing more than to just give in and collapse again, but she wouldn’t.  Determined to escape for just a moment, Dawn slowly got to her feet.  
  
Tears of pain mingled with the grief and she halted, trying to get a deep breath and unable to because of her broken ribs.  
  
 _No more pain. . . can’t.  
  
It’s all my fault._  
  
Panting rapidly, Dawn tried to fight the crisp shards of pain arcing through her with every step.  
  
Wincing deeply, she finally made it through her door.  
  
A wave of dizziness washed over her and everything went dark.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Willow stretched, rubbing her eyes of sleep.  Tara was snuggled next to her, still deep in slumber, an untroubled look on her face.  Willow breathed a relieved sigh, realizing the spell was still holding.  

  
 _It has to hold.  
  
I did the right thing._  
  
The red-head leaned down, brushing a light kiss across her girlfriend’s face.  
  
 _No mater what, I did the right thing._


	46. An untimely frost

**_Book Two.  
  
Chapter 46.  An untimely frost  
  
Death lies on her like an untimely frost  
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.   
    Romeo and Juliet, act iv, sc. v  
  
Quem Di diligunt  
Adolescens moritur  
(He whom the gods favor dies in youth).  
    Plautus: Bacchides, act iv. sc. 7  
  
The whisper of your scream  
sighed through the air  
and faith-the flag is torn and frayed  
inferno heat, glory in flame  
love was beaten and betrayed   
  
In every step I hear your sobbing  
dare I break the shade with one caress?  
dare I trespass to lift the veil  
to touch the lips so soft and frail?   
  
Hold the whirlwind, don't let it blow  
I seemed to know the ghost in you   
  
Your captive heart, the belief you share  
with a kiss eternal, the spirits of the square   
  
Hold the whirlwind, don't let it blow  
hope remains with the ghost in you  
Hold the whirlwind, don't let it blow  
I seemed to know the ghost in you   
    Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Ghost in you from the album Superstition  
_**  
  
  
  
Her eyes fluttered, opening slowly, everything coming into focus breath by breath.  Pain crested, rising with awareness, sharpening her senses.  Dawn felt air passing through the swollen tissues of her throat, moisture flooding her mouth.  
  
It hurt to breathe.  
  
It hurt to swallow.  
  
It hurt whether she moved or didn’t.  
  
Sweat broke out along her hairline with every agonizing step she took toward the bathroom.  
  
 _One more step. . . one more . . ._ Dawn focused on her thoughts, trying to ignore the pain, and the effort breathing took.  _I can do this . . .  
  
Coz the pain has to freaking stop.  
  
Can’t . . . one more step . . . look, there’s the bathroom . . . just a little bit . . . then no more pain._  
  
Dawn gripped the doorknob tightly, almost leaning into the door for support.  She wanted to fall, just give into the pain and sink down into oblivion, but she didn’t.  Wouldn’t.  With a stubbornness that was inherited from both her parents, she fought the waves of pain, willfully shoving them aside.  
  
 _No. . . open the damn door, Dawnie. . . just turn the knob and shuffle in . . .  
_  
Her mind went blank when she inhaled deeply, dark spots flashing before her eyes drawing her attention.  
  
Long moments passed before Dawn came back to herself, forehead pressed against the unyielding door, hand still wrapped around the doorknob.  Gathering rapidly flagging strength, Dawn turned her wrist and pushed open the bathroom door.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Rupert woke, a slim arm wrapped around his waist and a definitely female body pressed close against his side, when a door creaked open somewhere overhead.  
  
It took him long minutes to recognize both his surroundings and his companion.  He was more surprised to find himself in bed with Anya than to find himself sleeping in Buffy’s basement bedroom.  Waking up in the basement was at least something he’d become accustomed to in the months Buffy had been gone.  More often than not, Spike had trudged in the door with just minutes to spare before the sun rose, having allowed Rupert to get a somewhat comfortable sleep in a borrowed bed.  
  
However, he’d never once woken up with someone else snuggled in beside him.   It was so unfamiliar, years since he’d had overnight company, that Giles wasn’t exactly sure what the proper etiquette was; not that he was entirely sure what the etiquette was for waking up next to your employee and business partner.  Giles untangled himself from Anya as footsteps sounded on the stairs.  
  
“Rupert?  Are you awake?”  Wesley’s voice floated down, a sense of urgency threaded through his tones.  
  
“I am.  What’s wrong?”  He fumbled for his glasses, squinting up at his fellow Englishman.  
  
“Faith’s had a Slayer dream, and she’s got some information.”  He’d paused halfway down the stairs, giving the older man some privacy.    
  
“I’ll be right up.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The ache in his neck and the grumbling in his belly finally brought Xander to wakefulness.  The machines keeping Cordelia’s body functioning whirred and clicked, oblivious to his state and the door swung opened, revealing the blank smile of the Buffybot.  
  
“Good morning, Xander.”  She chirped happily at him.  “You slept for a long time.  Are you better now?”  
  
“Better?  There wasn’t anything wrong with me.”  Xander shook his head, clearing the cobwebs and confusion.  
  
“Humans sleep when they aren’t well.  It looked like you were ill.”  The Buffybot stepped purposefully over to the window, pulling on the strings for the blinds forcefully, throwing the room into bright sunlight.  
  
“Augh!  Give a guy a minute to wake up before you do that!”  Xander flung a hand over his eyes, missing the minute flinching of Cordelia’s eyelids.  
  
“Sorry.”  The bot adjusted the blinds, leaving them half-opened.  
  
“No problemo.  Just gimme a few to wake up.”  He headed for the bathroom, ignoring the blinking lights of the neural monitor.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _Oh my god.  I look like shit . . ._ Dark bruises circled round her neck, a second set of smaller round circles –  darker than the others, showing up almost black against the lighter purple bruises and pale cream of her normal coloring.  
  
Her hand raised itself to brush across the bruises, almost of its own accord.  Dawn flinched at a particularly sore spot, the movement shuddering through her body, eliciting an answering series of sharp flashes of pain in her chest.  
  
Panting heavily, Dawn fought the pain, fought the dizziness and nausea threatening to overwhelm her.  Her head dropped and her hands gripped the sides of the sink, knuckles white and bloodless.  
  
 _C’mon girl, hold it together, you can get through this._ Salty tears plopped heavily onto the white porcelain, disappearing against the stark white surface.  
  
 _The pain has to stop.  All this destruction has to stop.  
  
I can’t do this anymore.  All this is because of me . . .  All of this.    
  
Glory.  
  
Buffy.  
  
Casey._  
  
Dawn reached into the medicine cabinet, grabbing the bottle of pills the hospital had sent home with them earlier in the morning.  Slowly uncapping the bottle Dawn shook out a handful of pills onto her palm.  
  
She stared down at them, her mind blank of everything.  
  
 _They’re so small._  
  
Chewing them slowly, Dawn stared into the mirror, her own eyes glazed and blank.  _Is this really me?  Nothing’s left. . .  
_  
Very slowly she slid back the mirror on the medicine cabinet.  
  
Finding what she wanted took only a moment and Dawn stared at the small sliver of steel nestled in her hand.  Without blinking or further thought, she pressed the cool metal deep, idly watching as the red blood welled up against the thin lines and dark bruises.  
  
Dropping reluctantly down to her knees, Dawn draped her bleeding wrist over the tub, counting the drops as they splattered wetly.  
  
The thicker, heavier plop of blood droplets countered against the lighter, quicker splat of teardrops, the two mixing together at her fingertips.  Dawn gazed steadily as the drops joined with the pitter-patter of tap water as they pooled together before sliding down into the dark drain.  
  
Laying her head down on the edge, Dawn closed her eyes and waited.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Faith was pacing the confines of the small kitchen restlessly banging one fist against the outside of her thigh.  Wesley, busying himself with setting up breakfast foods, ignored her pacing as best he could.  
  
“What’s taking him so long?”  Faith stared out the back door, her ears attuned to any noise from the basement behind her.  
  
Wesley sighed, growing exasperated with her.  “He was barely awake when I went downstairs.  Give him a minute.”  
  
Just as she was about to complain further, the basement door opened and Giles stepped into the kitchen.  “Good morning.”  He paused, peering at the clock, “It is still morning?”  
  
“Barely, but yes.”  Wesley handed Giles a coffee cup, then motioned toward the pot.  
  
“So Wesley says you’ve had a Slayer dream.”  Giles addressed his comments to Faith as he fixed his coffee.  
  
“Yeah.  Listen, Watcher-man, we got more vamps than just Angel, but I’m not sure they’re all buddy-buddy with hm.”  Faith relayed her dream, leaving out no detail while both Watchers listened carefully.  
  
When she was done, Giles asked her if she recognized the disembodied voice and when she shook her head negatively, he frowned, trying to make sense of it.  His next question caught her attention though and she thought for a moment, then blurted out the one outstanding feature of the other unknown.  “The other dude was short, really short, like shorter than Buffy short.”  
  
Giles sipped his coffee, something he normally didn’t drink, and he nodded his head.  “I believe I know who you saw.”  
  
He paused once more, thinking over the cryptic words of his Slayer.  “As for the other, I believe once we’ve broken the spell, Buffy’s statements will make some sense, or at least more than they do at the moment.”  
  
There was silence in the kitchen, the three of them lost in their own thoughts, all of them, ironically enough, thinking roughly along the same lines. Faith glanced at the two Englishmen, her suspicions about Willow dancing about on the tip of her tongue, though wariness held her back.  She was the outsider, the one they’d banished, untrusted and unwanted – _okay, so it was my own freakin’ fault_ – and Willow was the trusted one.  Faith seriously doubted if they’d believe her at all.  
  
The matched pair of former Watchers also were concentrating on particular parts of Faith’s dream, although each of them focused on a different phrase.  Giles kept dwelling on “ _the hardest thing to face is when your friends betray you_ ”.  He had a niggling feeling he knew exactly what this meant, yet because of the spell blocking his memories, he couldn’t make sense of it.  
  
Wesley was looking at all of the information Faith had imparted, and was typically analyzing it, turning it over and over, trying to fit it in with the information he already knew.  Using his limited knowledge of the facts, he kept returning to “ _sometimes the monsters are a bit closer, sometimes they don’t wear a different face_ ”.  Taken at face value, that statement eliminated Spike, because “ _wear a different face_ ” could mean what Buffy referred to as ‘game face’.  Adding up the facts again, Wesley’s conclusion figured on the one person he thought would have been in the thick of things.  Willow’s absence was glaring.  He was beginning to wonder if it was perhaps by design. . . which had him seriously contemplating voicing his suspicions, though without any solid evidence, Wesley was convinced none of the others would believe him.  
  
“In the meantime, what do you suggest?”  Wesley dumped his cup into the sink, fixing a hard look at Rupert.  
  
“Two things.  I believe Faith would appreciate a change of clothes and we need to head for the Magic Box.  I need to find Jonathan Levinson’s current whereabouts.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
He woke alone, the bright sunlight still shrouded by the dark curtains and for long moments Sam contemplated just why he’d answered his sire’s call.  His sire hadn’t acted much like a sire at all, turning him to suit his own purposes, then shoving him out into the cold ocean, without any thought or care for his understanding of the change Angel had inflicted upon him.  
  
In fact, he had learned more in the swim to shore – the long hours spent in the company of Spike, than anything he’d learned from Angel.  William had taught him the basics of survival – of the limits of his strength and endurance, and strangely enough, that he could control the thirst.  
  
His first days as a vampire had been chaotic, swimming for his life – abandoned by his sire  twenty miles from shore with the threat of daybreak looming.  He and Spike had swum side by side, more for the companionship than any real sense of comradery or care for the other’s welfare.  And yet, by the end of their trek, Sam had felt closer to Spike then he did to his sire.  
  
To his further surprise, when they reached shore, Spike hadn’t abandoned him right away.  They’d crawled ashore on the ass end of Long Island, hiding from the sunlight in a rickety fisherman’s shack, setting out at dusk for the nearest town.  
  
It had taken them almost three days to make it into New York City, another two for Spike to find a ship heading back across the Atlantic for Spain – and not once in that time had Spike thought to ditch him.  
  
No, instead Spike had taught him the finer points of breaking and entering, picking pockets and, most importantly, how to hunt and survive.  Sam had realized then there was something refreshingly honest about Spike, finding himself oddly grateful for his tutelage.  
  
Right now, though, he had to admit the real reason he’d answered the sire’s call.  Once or twice during their week together, Spike had mentioned Angel; the mentions hadn’t been anything resembling complimentary, though they had indicated a closer connection than Sam had originally thought.  The possibility of finding Spike again had been more than enough to tip the scales.  
  
Sam wanted to – needed to understand – why.  No answers seemed to be forthcoming from either Angel or Drusilla.  Perhaps Spike had some.  
  
With the memory of Drusilla’s cryptic words and actions running through his head, Sam thought it might be time to let Spike know he was around.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Anya followed Giles into the store, her lips drawn together in a thin line, creases of fatigue and temper bracketing her mouth.  She’d been tight-lipped and silent since they’d woken her, her mind firmly convinced they were going about this all wrongly.  
  
Giles had listened to her objections, which mainly consisted of not trusting Faith and promptly ignored them.  When he couldn’t quite explain why he refused to disturb either Buffy or Spike, Anya had thrown up her hands and merely exclaimed, “On your head be it.”  
  
Her disapproval was loud and clear, for all that it remained quiet past that single outburst and Giles was at a loss as to why it affected him so.  Anya was generally a cheerful person, rarely allowing her real concerns to shine through, especially whenever Xander was around – so why should her disapproval bother him at all?  
  
Forcing aside his confusion about her mood and feelings, Giles focused on what she was saying.  He had to admit – Anya did have a point about trusting Faith, though he also knew if they didn’t start somewhere, Faith’s presence would at the least be a distraction.  
  
Sooner or later, if they didn’t trust Faith now, Giles was certain she would betray them.  If he’d learned anything from dealing with Spike, he’d learned trust had to start somewhere.  It was easier to trust initially and let the other person grow into that trust.  Firming his resolve to trust Faith, Giles turned to face Anya and hesitated at the look on her face.  
  
She was grim-faced, her arms crossed, one small foot tapping with barely suppressed temper and he realized, as he gaped open-mouthed at her, he was madly, deeply, irrevocably in love with her.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Leaving Tara with a kiss, Willow headed down the stairs, thinking of how she could surprise her girlfriend.  Breakfast in bed would be a good thing.  
  
Passing by the bathroom, Willow thought she heard a noise, but when she paused and listened, there was no further sound from within.  Willow shrugged and kept walking.  
  
There were odd things about, like blankets and pillows on the couch and numerous coffee cups piled in the sink, though Willow couldn’t figure out what any of those things meant, except for one.  
  
The black leather duster draped over the newel post at the bottom of the stairs was a dead give-away for the unwanted presence of a certain vampire.  Willow couldn’t make sense of him still being around, since part of the spell had been designed specifically to get rid of the vampire.  To keep him away from Buffy and the rest of them.  
  
But especially Buffy.  
  
Spike wasn’t a good person, wasn’t even a person.  He was an evil, soul-less vampire whose continued presence in Sunnydale distracted Buffy and kept her away from her real friends.  
  
Friends like herself and Xander, who’d been with her since Buffy’s arrival in Sunnydale.  They’d been the ones to be there for her, done everything they could to help the Slayer with her duty.   He’d just been trying to kill her since the first time he’d arrived in Sunnydale.  Supposedly he was one of them now, but she knew better – Spike wasn’t a good guy.  
  
And he was still hanging around.   
  
Willow pursed her lips, making a face at the thought of the vampire.  _What does it take to get rid of him?  Am I gonna have to permanently disinvite him from this house?_  
  
So caught up in her musings, Willow didn’t notice Tara coming down the stairs until she was practically nose to nose with the redhead.  “Hey, you.  What’re you thinking?”  
  
“Huh?”  Willow jumped a bit, then smiled brightly at her girlfriend.  “What?  Nothing.  Was just thinking, that’s all.”  
  
“Oh.”  Tara nervously played with her hands, blushing furiously whenever she peaked at Willow.  “Can we. . . maybe go out for a while?”  For some reason the memory of the conversation with the others during the night kept nagging at her and she suddenly didn’t want anyone else near Willow.  And she wasn’t at all sure if it was Willow she wanted to protect.  
  
“Um.  Sure.  I was gonna fix you breakfast, though.”  Willow let a little disappointment creep into her voice, moving Tara to hastily add, “How about I take you out instead?”  
  
Tugging Willow by the hand, Tara grabbed her purse and headed for the front door.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
It was the cessation of all the noise that finally woke him, the quiet settling over the house alerting his senses all was not right.  
  
He woke, no transition between slumber and wakefulness, every nerve strumming with tension.  Buffy was curled in his arms and he was unsurprised to find the sprog nestled in between them.  
  
Untangling his arms and legs from hers, Spike slowly sat up, ears tuned to the silence, focusing on the various heatbeats around him.  Buffy’s and the baby’s were strong beside him and two others . . . and one wasn’t as strong as it should be.  
  
Pushing back the covers, Spike grabbed his jeans from the floor, then turned back to look down at Buffy.  He didn’t want to wake her until he knew something was wrong, though his intuition was telling him he’d better.  
  
“Kitten?  Buffy, c’mon, wake up.”  He shook her shoulder, brushing a gentle hand down her side.  “Wake up, sunshine.”  
  
She grumbled something groggily at him, swiping at his hand ineffectually.  
  
“Buffy, wake up.  Somethin’s wrong.”  His voice was low, laced with concern.  
  
“All right.  I’m awake.”  She groused at him from behind closed eyes, her voice a bare whisper.  
  
“No.  You’re not.  C’mon, sunshine, open up.”  The baby stirred at the sound of their voices, adding his own protest to Buffy’s.  “‘M gonna check on the girls.”  
  
“Kay.”  Buffy murmured at him, tucking the blankets closer around herself and Connor.  
  
Breathing out a slightly exasperated sigh, Spike got to his feet, intending to head straight for Dawn’s room.  
  
The smell hit him at the door and Spike didn’t hesitate.  Whirling back to the bed, he yanked the covers up and off.  
  
“Slayer.”  He ground out.  “Get up now.”  
  
The urgency of his tone, coupled with his actions, finally reached her and she sat up.  “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Blood.”  
  
He waited for her to get up, then lifted the baby from the bed and dumped him in the crib while Buffy grabbed a pair of loose sleep pants from the drawer.  “Okay, let’s go.”  
  
Together they walked into the hallway, Spike in the lead by a couple of steps.  He paused outside the bathroom door, with a nod to Buffy, he stepped back and pushed heavily on the door.  
  
It was a sight out of his worst imaginings and he knew, at Buffy’s horrified sobbing gasp from behind him, a scene right out of her nightmares.  
  
Dawn was slouched over the tub, water running silently down her arm, mixing with her blood as both flowed steadily from her wrist.  
  
“ _Fucking Christ_.”  
  
“Oh my god.”  
  
She was ghostly pale, her lashes and bruises strikingly dark against her skin.  
  
“Spike?”  Buffy was frozen behind him and the fear gripping her transmitted itself to him and he was barely able to choke out, “She’s breathin’.”  
  
Almost mechanically, Spike stepped further into the bathroom, leaned down, turned off the taps, then oh, so softly, he said, “Get the bandages, sweetheart.”  
  
She hesitated, unable to move because of the fear clutching at her heart, and he growled out her name.  “Buffy.  Kit.  Now.”  
  
Spike had Dawn cradled in his lap, her head lolling against his shoulder and Buffy couldn’t remember when he’d moved.  “Now, Slayer.”  
  
Woodenly she reached under the sink, groping around for the first-aid kit.  Vaguely she was aware of his voice, the rough timbre of it soothing her, yet part of her was detached from the whole moment, her mind unable to process what was happening.  
  
“ _Buffy_.  Buffy, hold it together.  You gotta stay with me, sunshine.  Open the kit, baby.”  
  
Blankly she stared at him, not hearing his words for long minutes, until he repeated himself more than once.  Her fingers fumbled with the catches, finally wrenching the top off, breaking it at the hinges.  
  
Spike was trying to stop the blood, his hands slipping around Dawn’s torso, holding her cool body flush against him.  “C’mon, Niblet, wake up.  Open your eyes for me, baby girl. . .  C’mon.”  
  
Dawn was completely unresponsive.  
  
He lifted her still bleeding wrist to his mouth, sealing the cuts closed.  Buffy turned, the roll of gauze in her hands and she sobbed, seeing the look on his face.  “Spike?”  
  
“Open her eyes.  Tell me what you see.”  
  
Buffy pried open Dawn’s eyelid with shaking hands.  “She’s. . . she’s blank.”  
  
“Call an ambulance.  She’s overdosed too.”


	47. Grief’s best music

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 47.  Grief’s best music  
  
In the hour of adversity be not without hope,  
For crystal rain falls from black clouds.  
    Nizami Ganjavi, Azeri poet and philosopher, 1141 - c.1209  
  
Hope, like the gleaming taper's light,  
Adorns and cheers our way;  
And still, as darker grows the night,  
Emits a brighter ray.  
    Oliver Goldsmith  
  
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings;  
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.  
    Richard III, act v, scene ii  
  
Hope is grief's best music.  
    Author Unknown  
  
There is no hope unmingled with fear,  
and no fear unmingled with hope.  
    Baruch Spinoza_**  
  
  
  
The instant the door was closed, the alpha male lifted his nose from atop his paws, growling lowly in his throat.  His hackles rose, and his sudden alertness communicated itself through the pack, waking them all in order of standing.  The female, his mate, stood up, the mated alpha pair calmly waiting side by side, waiting for the Huntsman’s signal.  The younger males, impatient and anxious for the hunt growled in concert, begging for permission to move, to isolate their prey . . .  
  
Permission from the Huntsman never came, beyond the single word command, “Track”.  
  
The russet-coated female moved forward, snapping at two of the younger hounds, whelps from her first litter, and with a vicious nip at their hind quarters, she took off.  
  
Hesitating for just a moment, the marked two swung their large heads back, looking for permission from both the Huntsman and the alpha male.  Two low growls, sounding remarkably similar, reverberated from other-than-human and canine throats, sending the pair on their way.  
  
Marking the scent of the redheaded witch, the trio followed, their presence blithely ignored.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike held onto Dawn, his right arm wrapped loosely around her waist, his left hand constantly slapping against her cheek, in a vain effort to wake her up.  He kept up a constant stream of admonitions – her name – interspersed with pleadings for her to wake up and talk to him.  
  
Buffy stumbled from the bathroom, scrambling almost on her hands and feet, to get to the phone in her room.  He could hear her babbling into the phone, the strain in her voice clear.  
  
The baby started crying and Buffy appeared in the bathroom doorway, a blank look on her face.  Spike looked up at her and ached to take her in his arms comforting her, but his focus had to be on Dawn.  
  
“Get dressed.”  Buffy shook her head, coming further into the small bathroom.  “You’re gonna have to get dressed so you can go with her.”  
  
Instead Buffy crouched in front of them, a hand covering his, the other resting on Dawn’s leg.  She squeezed the hand on Dawn’s thigh, her voice quavering.  “C’mon, Dawnie, wake up for me.  Please . . .  Please Dawnie.”  
  
Anguish filled her voice and Buffy finally met Spike’s eyes.  “Spike?”  
  
“I know.”  He stared at her, his eyes roving over her face.  “Go get dressed and get the sprog.”  
  
A door creaked open in the hallway and Kirsten appeared in the doorway, sleepily disheveled.   Understanding came swiftly and she merely said “Shit,” then, “I’ll get the baby.”  
  
Suiting action to words, Kirsten did just that.  
  
“Go on, get dressed.  You’re gonna have to go with her to hospital.”  Spike’s voice was soft, barely a whisper between them.  
  
“Don’t let her go.”  Buffy stared back into his eyes, tears brimming.  “I’ll be right back.”  
  
She scrambled to her feet and as she reached the doorway, his ears picked up the faint sounds of sirens, he said, “Better get the door, too, kitten.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Jonathan Levinson was ridiculously easy to find, once they decided to locate him.  For some strange reason, Anya had all his information stored at the shop, from phone numbers to address.  Giles got him at the third number – his dorm – and Jonathan agreed to meet them at the shop later in the day.  
  
In the meantime, Faith had finished writing down every detail of her most recent dream, backtracking now writing down the others, specifically the most ones which had prompted her trip to Sunnydale.  Wesley was researching ways to reverse the spell and Giles was looking up Aurelian vampires.  Anya was dusting shelves, checking and double-checking inventory while keeping an eye trained on Faith.  
  
It was obvious to Giles there was little love between the two women, and while he was grateful for Anya’s vigilance, her short temper was beginning to wear on him.  Her grumbling and grousing about the shop and what was extremely valuable kept distracting him.  Or maybe that was her perfume.  He couldn’t actually decide what was worse, the grumbling or the scent.  
  
Pulling another volume on Aurelians off the shelf, Giles intercepted Anya on her way into the back.  “Anya, please stop whinging on about the situation.”  
  
She hissed at him, an angry look on her face.  “She’s not trustworthy.  She’s probably going to switch bodies or steal our identities and ruin everything.  I can’t allow her to control any part of my life.”  
  
“Really, Anya, must you?  She’s hardly going to switch bodies with Wesley or I and I doubt seriously she’s going to harm any of us.”  Giles grabbed her arm, peering down into her eyes.  “I doubt helping any of us would be her first choice unless she has changed.”  He paused once more, saying in a much softer tone, “We have to start trusting her sometime.”  
  
“I still don’t think it’s very smart.”   Her face had softened, responding to his expression.  She smiled up at him prettily.  “But I trust you, so I’ll try.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The restaurant was barely occupied when they got there, the morning rush long since over and the afternoon rush about to start.  Willow dragged her girlfriend in by the hand, her excitement communicating itself easily to the other girl. Determined not to let thoughts of the spell spoil her mood, Willow plastered on a happy face and pushed aside any worries she might have.  Besides, Tara was actually smiling and laughing, something Willow hadn’t seen her do in so long, not since before . . . well, almost before the mess with Glory.  
  
 _Not going to think about any of the bad stuff.  Gonna ignore it all, pretend it’s not there.  Just gonna spend the day with my girlfriend._  
  
Sunlight was glinting off Tara’s dark blond hair and Willow was mesmerized by the sight.  It had been months since she’d been able to just look at her and for a moment, tears filled her eyes.  She missed Tara so, while they’d been apart, Willow was willing to do anything in her power to keep them together. . . _but not thinking about that now.  Thinking good thoughts.  About how we are here, eating pancakes together, no fighting or anything._  
  
Tara was watching the guy at the next table, who was struggling to eat a huge pancake that poofed out over the plate, standing almost eye-level.  The guy was chowing down, and had the thing almost finished before Willow even realized Tara’s attention kept wandering.  
  
“Hey, baby, what’s so funny?”  
  
Leaning forward a bit, so their faces were very close, Tara whispered, “Watch his face.  It’s so cute.  He looks like a little kid.”  
  
Stealing a glance over, Willow saw what had caught Tara’s eye.  The pancake was this huge monstrosity of a thing, poofed up and about two feet high.  Everyone at his table was laughing at him, but the guy had this look – it was Christmas and his birthday all rolled into one – and neither of them could stop their own giggles.    
  
“Want one of those?”    
  
Willow laughed again, shaking her head, answering, “I don’t think the two of us together could eat that much pancake.”  
  
Tara frowned a little, then brightened her smile.  “Would be fun trying though.”  
  
Shaking her head again, Willow caught a glimpse of a pair of big dogs watching the restaurant.  They were huge, almost all black, though what held her attention were the weird red spots on their coats.  The spots weren’t noticeable, until they moved, showing up only in the sunlight.  Willow hesitated, when the dogs got up and stretched, one of them almost looking right at her.  A flicker of fear stole through her, but Tara was talking and Willow shook it off.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Angel _had_ heard them.    
  
It was impossible to disguise when Drusilla decided to let herself go and really indulge.  Apparently she’d taken a fancy to Lawson – or at least – he’d presented an interesting puzzle for her.  
  
Drusilla had a penchant for the new – for novelty, and she’d always been unable to resist whenever she was face to face with novel temptation.  Not that she ever resisted much temptation at all.  _Hell, it had been what drew her to William in the first place. . ._ Though that had been a mistake from the beginning, at least in his opinion.  
  
He’d almost expected Drusilla to take up with Jenner and not Lawson, but should’ve known she’d pick the former naval officer.  
  
There was something off about Lawson, something he couldn’t quite grasp about his last childe.  Not that he felt like taking the time to figure it out.  No, he had other, more important things to worry over.  
  
Like where the witch was.  
  
He’d played around with the Slayer and her people long enough.  Granted, he’d allowed himself the indulgence of playing, Cordelia’s capture proving a more than adequate distraction.  Now she was once more out of his control, he needed to focus.  
  
Right now, his focus had to be on Willow.  
  
Either by turning her or leaving her broken body on the Slayer’s steps as a message, somehow he needed to neutralize her completely.  
  
Watching Drusilla leave Lawson’s room from the shadows, Angel contemplated his options.  He could turn the witch, binding her power to him for as long as they existed; or kill her outright.  Losing all that power. . .    
  
“Drusilla.”  
  
Perhaps she could be sweet-talked into a vision, or at least some sort of counsel.  More than likely she’d be unhappy sharing the spotlight as his link to the future.  “Come here, Dru.”  
  
Without missing a beat or worried about being caught leaving Lawson’s room, Drusilla practically danced across the floor in his direction.  She was a vision in black and crimson, long trailing sleeves dipping and swaying with each sinuous step.  
  
“Hullo, Daddy . . . did you sleep well?”  
  
Her smile was wickedly innocent and feline content graced her features.  Angel’s answering grin was a bit more feral, though Drusilla ignored the angry glint.  “Question should be how did you sleep?”  
  
His fey childe threw her head back in dark laughter.  “Silly, Daddy . . . you know I didn’t sleep a wink.”  She giggled again, slyly watching him from the corners of her eyes.  “Your baby girl was naughty, stayed up all night. . .  perhaps she should be punished. . .”  
  
She laughed again, seeing the brief flash of interest sneak over his features.  
  
“Oh, but I’m sure you enjoyed yourself.”  He couldn’t resist the remark, not when he could clearly smell just how thoroughly she had enjoyed her morning’s activities.  
  
“You could have joined us.”  A long finger traced along his jawline, the mingled scents of her and Lawson assaulting his nose.  
  
“I don’t like to share, Dru. . . you know that.”  He made a face, pushing away her hand, playfully slapping her ass.  
  
She laughed again, circling around his seated body, draping her arms over his shoulders, dangling her hands in front of his chest.  “Oh now, you know you’re lying. . .”   Drusilla nipped his ear, grazing fangs along his neck.  “You just don’t like when _you_ can’t be the one to pick who you’re sharing with.”  
  
A grin split his features; here was the opening he’d been waiting for.  “I’ve been thinking about sharing, especially lately.  How do you feel about a little sister?”  
  
Pretending to consider his words, Dru slid her hands down his sides, long nails, dragging lightly over his skin.  “Daddy wants to find the dark seer?”  
  
“A replacement.”  He shifted away from her mouth, intent for once, on her thoughts.  
  
“Another little girl?”  Dru froze as Willow’s face flashed in her mind, distorted by fangs and ridges, then shuddered.  “Not a nice little girl, not one likely to share, Daddy.”  
  
Getting to her feet, moving away from Angel, Drusilla let the lullabies of her childhood fill her head.  Dipping and swaying to a haunting melody only she heard, Drusilla allowed the visions to come forth.  “Blood and ashes . . . skin and bones. . . little red hides behind a mask . . . darkness breeds and coils . . .  Baying hounds, trailing, tracking . . .  Dark hands she has . . .”  
  
Angel watched her with concern, trying to make sense of her utterances, with little luck.  Nothing she said made much sense, it never really had.  Spike always understood her, or at least knew how to cajole her enough to get her to explain further.  Not that Spike’s presence would do any good at the moment.  
  
Resigning himself to having to ask Drusilla to explain everything, Angel settled in for a long afternoon.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
They’d actually caught a break; the paramedics responding to the call knew both of them; on more than one occasion, they’d made it away from an accident site because of a timely intervention from either one or both of the blondes.  
  
Buffy met them at the door, surprised to see Karl and Rob, although she was quickly grateful when they both told her they would do everything they could.  
  
And they were true to their word.  Dawn was strapped in, an IV drip inserted before Spike was finished dressing.  By the time Buffy was tying her sneakers, they had Dawn out of the bathroom and in the hallway.  
  
Kirsten had a now quiet Connor in her arms, her features drawn and tearstained, watching the paramedics working efficiently on Dawn.  
  
Spike walked past her, pulling on a shirt when he caught a glimpse of her expression.  “Not your fault, princess.”  
  
She glanced up at him, a sad look on her face.  “I know.  I should’ve watched better though.”  
  
He was shaking his head.  “Not you too.  Buffy’s blaming herself f’r all this, an’ ‘m tellin’ you what I’m tellin’ her.  ‘S not your fault.  Niblet’s been low since. . . well, long time now.  ‘S nothin’ to do with anyone but herself.”  Spike shook his head.  “Girl needs time.”  
  
Moving past her, he squeezed her shoulder, then realized something.  “Gonna need you to stay put with the sprog.  Will you do that?”  
  
She answered him without thinking, then blushed darkly.  “Yeah.  Sure, Daddy.”  
  
“Keep that quiet.”  He shook his head, heading for the stairs and Buffy.  
  
He found her at the bottom of the stairs, silently watching the paramedics load Dawn into the back of the ambulance.  Spike touched her shoulder, jolting her back to herself.  “Go with them, I’ll meet you at hospital.”  
  
“I can’t . . . I can’t go.”  She refused to look at him, tears sliding unchecked down her cheeks.  
  
“Yeah, you can.  I’ll be there just after.  Kirsten’s gonna stay with the sprog.  Everythin’ ‘ll be fine.  Go on now.”  He nudged her toward the door, unmindful of the sunlight.  
  
“Promise you’ll be there?”  Buffy looked up at him then and he wiped away the tears from her cheeks.  
  
“Right behind you.  Go on.”  He pushed her again and she ran from the house, jumping up lightly into the back of the ambulance.  Karl slammed the doors behind her and Spike watched as the ambulance took off.  
  
Closing the door, he turned around, heading right for the stairs.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Jonathan was right on time, arriving at the Magic Box promptly at three.  He was wary, tentatively unsure of why Giles had called him, concerned there were problems with the website designs, or glitches in the forms, anything other than what he was asked.  
  
It was typically Anya who jumped right to the heart of the matter, getting him at the doorway.  “Hello, Jonathan.  We need to pick your brain.  Not in the literal sense like a Eusi’ty’k demon, but we need to know everything you know about that spell you cast.”  
  
“Anya, please.  Hello, Jonathan.”  Giles motioned the visibly taken-aback young man forward, toward the research table.  “While I prefer to ask your assistance in this, Anya is quite correct.  We do need to know exactly what you did regarding that spell you cast a couple of years ago.”  
  
“You need my expertise?”  Jonathan was more than shaken, he was floored.  The most renown demon hunter in the world, aside from Buffy, wanted his expertise.  Standing tall at his less than considerable height, Jonathan glanced from one set of features to another.  “You’re serious?”  
  
For the first time since he’d walked into the shop, the other man spoke, one Jonathan vaguely remembered as seeing before, although he couldn’t recall his name.  “Rather.”  
  
A look passed between the two men, one Jonathan couldn’t interpret and he didn’t make the attempt.  Shrugging away his confusion, he asked, “What is it you want to know?”  
  
Wesley pulled out a chair, motioning Jonathan to sit, then taking one for himself, replied, “Why don’t you start at the very beginning and I’ll just take notes.”  
  
Faith grabbed Giles before he got all involved in the discussion, motioning toward the training room; when she got his silent permission, she moved quickly in that direction, the slayer allergy to research apparently an inherited trait.  
  
Before she’d thrown her first punch, the males were all knee-deep in their discussion, effectively ignoring the two females.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Gathering things he thought Dawn and Buffy might need, Spike rifled through Buffy’s dresser drawers, frustrated when he couldn’t find anything he wanted, just his own things.  “Bloody fuckin’ hell!”  
  
Slamming shut another drawer, Spike spewed venomous words at the thin air.  “ _Fuck_!”  
  
Kirsten stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening to him stomp and curse, the occasional thump of something hitting the wall indicating his temper wasn’t in any danger of going away anytime soon.  Connor was staring at her, as if trying to figure out who she was, or why she was here and Kirsten found herself babbling out loud to him.  “I know this is crazy,  I shouldn’t even be here yet and it’s just  . . . okay, so maybe I _shouldn’t_   have come back, but you know I did the right thing, even if they are mad at me.  It’d be worse if Dawnie were gone. . .  Mom would be completely out of her mind and Daddy’d be. . .   Daddy would‘ve taken off and he’d be gone for a while and Mom would get _worse_ and it’d be all messed up and . . .”  
  
Her voice ended in a trailed off sob and Kirsten held onto the baby tighter, afraid to say anything else.  The baby, as if understanding why suddenly there were  tears falling onto his face, reached up a hand, tiny fingers pinching Kirsten’s lips closed, putting a stop to the flow of words coming from her mouth.  
  
She sobbed a bit, holding onto Connor tightly, heavy tears falling from her eyes, softly whispered words emerging.  “I had to come back.  I _had_ to.”  
  
Spike stomped down the stairs, having heard nearly every word, staring at the two of them.  Noting the tears falling from Kirsten’s eyes, and the sorrowful look on her face, he decided against questioning her about what she’d just blubbered about.  “Princess?”  
  
“I _had_ to, Daddy.  Please don’t be mad at me.”  She hung back, afraid he was about to lash out and verbally flay her for the incredible risk she’d taken.  
  
He nodded, unsure of what exactly to say.  Kirsten had taken a risk, but now, after overhearing her wail at the infant, he wondered what else had gotten all buggered when Dawn hadn’t survived.  And he couldn’t yell at her, couldn’t be the cause of any more tears. “C’mere, princess.”  
  
His arms opened, the bundle of clothes falling to the floor beside him, and Kirsten slipped easily into his arms with a soft cry, the baby cuddled between them.  
  
Neither one of them spoke for long minutes.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Jenner listened to Hawkins’ report on Angel’s activities, and those staying under his roof, curiosity about Drusilla’s behavior peaking his interest.  _Why would she spend the better part of the morning having sex with a relative fledge when her precious Angel was just within reach  . . ._ Although the fledge – Lawson – was a direct childe of Angel, he lacked the instinct to become a full master, which was again something to note.  So few true Aurelians didn’t attain master status that it was notable which ones didn’t.    
  
Although Hawkins also reported that Lawson had sent cannon fodder to gauge the Slayer’s people, holding back, completely unobserved.  Tracking them to hospital after Angel’s misguided attack on one of the Slayer’s people – rumor had it the Slayer’s sister – keeping either side unaware of his presence, and escaping unscathed spoke more to Lawson’s intelligence and training than he’d thought the vampire capable of on first meeting.  
  
For a long minute Jenner stared at his best recon man, almost disbelieving what he heard.  Lawson’s tactics were straight out of William’s methods.  
  
That was unexpected.  
  
This fledge acted more like William than Angel, and yet by all accounts Angel was his sire.  Jenner paced the floor, half-listening to the speculations of his other men.    
  
He had to admire the intelligence of copying William’s moves; although he had to wonder when and how he’d learned to do so.  By all previous stories, this vampire had been turned, and pretty much disappeared, leaving everyone to speculate Spike had let him flounder or killed him outright.  How he’d managed to remain underground in a vampire society for so long astounded Jenner.  It denoted an intelligence level that hadn’t been displayed since William’s turning, although Spike had been a bit more brash and far more determined to make his mark as a vampire of notoriety.    
  
Spike was one of the few vampires, even his fellow Aurelians that Jenner actually respected, despite their past and more importantly, despite his liaison with Drusilla.    
      
Perhaps it was time to reveal his presence . . .  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
It was almost like being on a real date, something they’d never really done.  Their relationship, when it started, had taken both of them by surprise, and they’d kind of skipped certain things.  But now, here they were, holding hands and walking through the open air mall, window shopping and just being together.  
  
Willow spotted something in a shop window, and the two headed inside, intent on the jewelry display.  
  
This time, neither one of them noticed the silent hounds padding behind them, nor did they notice the single one that left the others, heading back in the opposite direction.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Buffy found herself in the emergency room waiting for word on her sister, hoping that she’d make it through this latest crisis.  This time however, she was alone, at least for now. Spike promised her he’d be there as soon as possible, and despite knowing he was forced to travel through the sewers in order to get there, she kept flicking her eyes to the clock.  
  
They hadn’t been at the hospital long, barely an hour having past since they arrived.  Bypassing the normal procedures, the paramedics had wheeled Dawn directly into the last room, the same room from last night.  Only now, there was no sympathetic mom-type nurse, nor was Spike hovering just outside the room, and neither was anyone else just beyond the waiting room doors.  
  
She was alone.  
 _  
Dawn . . ._    Buffy sat in the chair opposite the gurney holding her sister, head in her hands, unable to lift her eyes to look at her.  Dawn was still unconscious, two IV lines pumping blood and other fluids into her system, in an effort to counter-act the half bottle of OxyContin she’d swallowed.  Everything they’d pumped into her had stabilized her condition and the attending ER physician decided it would be best for her to come out of the drugged stupor on her body’s schedule.  
  
According to the doctors, her blood gases were stable, her hemoglobin was getting better and her neural responses were climbing. . .  All of which made no sense at all to Buffy.  
  
Not much was making sense.  
  
A nurse was standing beside Dawn, checking her vitals, watching for any change, but she studiously avoided speaking to Buffy.  The tiny blond was curled up, hunched over, head nearly touching her knees, body screaming with unexpressed emotional pain.  Venturing close, the nurse started to reach out a hand when Buffy, sensing her nearby, lifted her head.  “She’s resting comfortably.  I’m just gonna go check on getting her a room and then I’ll be right back.”  
  
“A room?”  Buffy stared up at her, more than a little dazed.  
  
“Standard procedure to keep all suicide attempts twenty-four hours for observation.  As soon as we have a room, she’ll be moved upstairs.”    
  
There was a sympathetic look in the other woman’s eyes, though Buffy barely registered the emotion.  “No.  She’s not. . . when she wakes up, I’m taking her home.”  
  
“Those are state laws, not hospital regulations.  She has to stay.”  
  
Buffy was shaking her head in denial.  “No.  No.  She’s coming home.”  
  
“Look, let me get the doctor to explain this to you.”    
  
With a quick flurry, she was gone.  
  
Staring at the still figure on the gurney, Buffy tried to understand why Dawn would do something like this. . . why would she want to take this way out?   Without conscious thought Buffy found herself getting to her feet, standing beside her sister.  Wrapping shaking arms around her middle, Buffy fought the tremors and sobs building in her throat.  This was her worst nightmare, having everyone she loved leave her.   This was hard – too hard.  
  
“I can’t do this, Dawnie.  You need to wake up.  You have to be safe.  You have to wake up.”  
  
Buffy moved her hand, almost to touch the still form of her sister, then changed her mind.  Instead her hand covered the sobs emerging from her mouth, hiding them from the world.  _Have to be strong. . . can’t show anyone. . . can’t.  
_  
Trying mightily to thrust away all her jumbled emotions, every single shred of feeling behind a wall, Buffy fought a tiny voice in her heart urging her not to close herself off.  
  
Dawn was so pale, even against the white cotton sheets covering her still form.  A light blanket covered her, though her bruises gave a sickening contrast to the lack of any other color.  
  
The bandage wrapped around Dawn’s wrist, with the IV drips in her other arm, was a direct reminder of what brought them here.  
  
She had no idea how long she stood there, her mind almost blank, afraid to look closer into the reasons why her sister felt being gone was better or easier.  Despairingly afraid she understood far too well why being gone was easier; understood far too well how seductive and easy it would be to lay down all burdens and give into the need to let the pain go.  Forever.  To just – surrender the burdens, surrender every pain, every emotion, everything that was too hard to face.  Shying away from that mentally, Buffy continued blindly staring at nothing.  
  
The door creaked open behind her and Buffy said nothing, determined to ignore the presence of whoever dared brave the stifling atmosphere of the room.  Ignoring the person, Buffy finally reached out a hand to smooth the blanket over her sister.  
  
A strong hand reached out, arm covered in black leather, another arm circling around her waist.  Breathing out a deep sigh, she leaned into the strong chest behind her, resting her head into the crook between shoulder and neck.  Spike’s deep whisper broke into the silence.  “How’s she doin’?”  
  
“Okay, I guess.  They wanna keep her overnight.”  Buffy fought to hide the distress this news raised, however, Spike picked up on it.  
  
“What for?”  
  
“Observation.  Said it’s state law and there’s no way around it.”  
  
“Might be for the best.  Niblet needs more than. . .”  His voice trailed off at the look on her face and he fell silent, waiting to see what she might say, realizing he might have struck a nerve, inciting her temper.  Spike pulled back expecting to hear her barbed tongue or even bear the brunt of her fist.  He was unprepared then, when her face crumpled and Buffy’s tears slid unchecked down her cheeks.  
  
“I’m a horrible person.  Mom. . . Mom left her in my care and. . . and all I do is keep failing.”  
  
“No. None of that now.  Your mum knew what she was about, leaving Niblet in your care.  No one loves her better.”  
  
“I’m so bad at taking care of anyone.  I can barely take care of myself.”  
  
“Weight of the world on your shoulders, kitten, got all you can do to fight the hordes of demons coming at you.  Can’t be expected to know everything.  We’ll figure it out.  Got all of us to help.”  

  
He sent a wave of reassurance through to her, which Buffy clung to like the lifeline he’d intended it to be.


	48. Golden sunsets and black storms

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 48.  Golden sunsets and black storms  
  
In nature there are unexpected storms;   
in life there are unpredictable vicissitudes.   
    Chinese proverb  
  
The talk of sheltering woman   
from the fierce storms of life   
is the sheerest mockery,   
for they beat on her from   
every point of the compass,   
just as they do on man,   
and with more fatal results,   
for he has been trained to protect himself,   
to resist, to conquer.   
    Elizabeth Cady Stanton,  
    As quoted in History of Woman Suffrage, vol. 4, ch. 12,   
    by Susan B. Anthony and Ida Husted Harper   
  
It’s the set of the soul that decides the goal,  
And not the storms or the strife.   
    Ella Wheeler Wilcox, The Winds of Fate   
  
Living is strife and torment,   
disappointment and love and sacrifice,   
golden sunsets and black storms.   
I said that some time ago,   
and today I do not think I would add one word.   
    Laurence Olivier, LA Times, 26 Feb 78  
_**  
  
  
Lawson spent the rest of the daylight hours hiding from Angel and the rest of his minions, anxious to get away from the mansion.  His tryst with Drusilla had unsettled him, more then he was willing to admit out loud.  He barely wanted to admit it at all.  Some hardly felt sense. . . something kept eating at him, about what he and Drusilla had done.  Exacerbating his unwanted guilt, knowing Drusilla felt less then nothing about the whole situation increased that minuscule emotion.  
  
Pacing the confines of his small room, Sam tried to come up with some way to safely reveal his presence to Spike.  So far he’d come up with nothing more elaborate or intelligent than just walking into the Slayer’s territory and announcing he was there to see Spike.  He had no idea how that would go over though, because he had no idea how they would deal with a vampire seeking out Spike.  And just why was he looking for him. . . he had no idea what exactly he was searching for – what purpose drove him to seek out some sort of an answer for what had happened to him, what was still happening.    
  
All he knew at this moment was, despite the blood-line call of his sire, Sam no more belonged here with the rest of his ‘family’ than the Slayer did.  The. . . well, it wasn’t exactly debauchery, but it certainly wasn’t decorous behavior, of those he was housed with constantly grated on him, and their unwillingness to accept his presence played havoc with his need for companionship and contact.  He’d been alone for so long now that the lack of someone to just connect with was playing on his sanity and sensibilities.  Meaningless sex was fulfilling if that’s all he was looking for, but Sam was tired of multiple partners and no real intimacy.  If he was human, he’d think about settling down and getting married, except that fate had been taken away from him.  Hell, right now he’d be happy with a dog for companionship.  
  
Maybe Spike had some insight for him – something – a reason.  
  
He’d come too far not to try.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
They’d gotten everything they could from Jonathan, including his original source for the spell he’d used two years ago.  Most helpful had been his advice on what to look for demon-wise.  He, aside from Buffy, was the only one to actually see the demon his spell had conjured and it was his off-hand remark to Wesley that got the former Watcher thinking heavily.  Jonathan had said, while they were looking through a demon identification guide, “If this spell is incomplete, the demon might not be complete either.”  
  
Wesley had scoffed at first, though the more he’d thought about it, the more sense Jonathan’s statement made.  The spell itself was incomplete, therefore the logic dictated the converse was also true.  The equal and opposite rule was immutable; if the original spell was incomplete or faulty in any way, then the opposite had to be the same. After gaping at Jonathan for a few moments, while his brain wrapped around this simple truth, he’d mentioned the younger man’s statement to Giles, who quickly agreed with Wesley’s assessment of the situation.  That precipitated the current focus of their research – making something incorporeal solid.    
  
Their success rate, at the moment had been slowed considerably due to an unusual influx of retail customers, which necessitated the assistance of not only Giles, but Wesley and Jonathan as well.  Anya was at her best, brightly acknowledging each and every one with a smile and  a cheery greeting.  
  
Despite the mundane distraction, both Giles and Wesley had their minds on the methods and means of spellwork.  Neither one of them thought of calling in the distaff side of the magical equation, some flare of awareness warning them separately not to tread down that path.    
  
Once the hordes of capitalists had been dealt with, the two Englishmen headed for the same volume, the younger man reaching the tome first.  Giles detoured for the training room then, calling out for Faith to join them, since they now had a more tangible lead and a way to break the spell.  Getting her attention was simple, all he said was, “We’ve got something.”  
  
Faith stopped punching at the bag, untaped her hands and moved into the shop area.  “What’s up?  Just tell me what I need to do.”  
  
“We’ve got one more component to refine, however, after that I believe we’ll be ready to form a plan of attack.”  Giles spoke as he walked forward toward the table.  
  
Wesley was scribbling furiously on a pad, rifling through a volume with his free hand.  Without looking up at Giles, he ripped off the top sheet, handing it to the older man.  “We need these ingredients and a crystal prism to focus the energy.”  
  
Glancing down at the list, Giles handed it directly to Anya, who had come to stand behind him, and he saw her shake her head at the list.  “I suppose we’ll have to charge this to your personal account?”  
  
Emitting a long suffering sigh, Giles shook his head at her and smiled slightly.  “Of course.  Can’t muck about with the record-keeping.”  He paused, taking the list back from her.  Catching sight of the less than pleased look on her face, Giles relented a bit.  “Yes, Anya, please charge it to my account.  Have we got the prism Wesley needs?”  
  
“Any particular crystal prism, or will just a generic one do?”  The ex-demon made a face at Giles, though she couldn’t mask her slight annoyance with his flippancy over the proper accounting, addressing her question to Wesley.  
  
“Have we got an Austurian cyrstal? If not the other will be fine.”  He answered, again, without lifting his head from the book in front of him, intent upon ironing out this last bit of information.  
  
“We have three different kinds of Austurian.  Do you require blue, green or yellow?”  She moved toward the more expensive crystal displays, indicating the crystals in question.    
  
Flipping back pages in the book before he answered her, Wesley ran a finger over the page he wanted, and asked rather sheepishly, “Have you got a green one that lightens to yellow at the center?”  
  
Pursing her lips, and bypassing the display, Anya reached down the shelves into the cabinet itself.  “This one is very rare.  Are you sure you need this specific one?  I could get a very nice sum of money for this on the open market.”  
  
She said it so matter of factly that none of the others registered the bluntness for a few moments.  Faith snickered, hiding a grin by turning away her head, while both Giles and Wesley sported completely exasperated looks, Giles merely raising an eyebrow in her direction while Jonathan swung his head from person to person.  
  
“Oh, all right, but really Giles, you have to stop using all our best stock on in-house spells.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
It was after five and Dawn was beginning to stir, her hands and feet fluttering spasmodically, eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids, whimpers sounding behind closed lips.  In the time between his arrival and the current moment, Spike had managed to finally convince Buffy it might be better for all of them to let the hospital keep Dawn, just for one night.  He’d also managed to promise they’d both stay with her and he would smuggle in the sprog and Kirsten, so everyone would be together.  
  
Buffy thought he was crazy, promising all that, but he’d left just a little while ago, the minute the sun had dropped far enough for him to forego the sewers on a quest to get Kirsten and the baby.  She’d made him promise if there was a hint of any problem with the hospital staff, he would bring the two straight to Giles.  
  
She was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, watching the fits and starts of her sister’s body making the arduous swim back to reality.  The original doctor had told her to expect the tremors, but to watch for real thrashing, which would indicate a seizure.  
  
So far, though, everything was quiet.  
  
Dawn was mumbling now, the sounds making no sense at all, none of the noises above a soft whisper.  Buffy was just about to get up and go to Dawn, make an attempt to calm her, when the door swung open behind her.  Turning around to face the intruder, Buffy was happily surprised when the plump red-headed nurse from the night before bustled into the room.  
  
“I just found out, sweetie, otherwise I would’ve been in to see you both sooner.  How are you doing?”  
  
Grateful and nonplused at the same time, Buffy froze as her uncertainty took over.  It was at once what she wanted and feared.  Mothering and a loss of control.  Unable to give voice to her new companion, Buffy merely shrugged her shoulders.  When she didn’t get a verbalized answer, Maureen Osbourne stopped taking Dawn’s vitals and eyed the Slayer. “Are you okay?  Do you need anything?”  
  
Buffy finally looked at her.  “I’m okay, I guess.  Spike went out to get stuff.”  
  
“All right.  I’m working tonight and so is Dr. Thomas.  The orders for Dawn’s room have been delayed.  So you and Spike won’t be disturbed while you’re down here.  If you need me, I’ll be right down the hall.”  
  
After writing down Dawn’s vitals, Maureen squeezed Buffy’s arm, then left the room.  
  
She retreated back to the chair, her eyes on Dawn’s twitching body.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Oz was trying to practice, showing his bandmates the new songs he’d been writing, oddly enough most of them about love.  He wasn’t a demonstrative person, nor the kind who normally let others in on his emotions, so these lyrics had his bandmates staring at him with stunned looks.  He was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable, when Devon picked up the thread of the melody and grabbed the papers in front of Oz and began singing.    
  
Pretty soon, the rest of the band had joined in, leaving Oz free to breathe and just hear the songs.  He couldn’t shake the image of her out of his head, despite his best efforts.  He knew, deep down, she didn’t love him, didn’t return the emotions in the way he wanted or needed, yet he couldn’t stop the way he was feeling.   It was different too, from what he’d felt for Willow – there wasn’t that spark of passion, it was an altogether different feeling.    
  
It was good.  Warm.  Like apple pie and vanilla.  Like his mother’s laundry soap and the smell of clean sheets.  The quiet of the monastery at night.   Stuff everyone took for granted, but always brought a sense of peace and comfort.  Oz found himself anxious for everything to go back to being normal. . . whatever normal was.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Sneaking the sprog and his baby Slayer into the hospital was a walk in the park.  Especially considering how nearly everyone had been involved in something else, and those that weren’t turned a blind eye when the baby-toting vampire slipped in through the ambulance port.  
  
Kirsten followed behind Spike, a backpack full of baby supplies slung over her shoulders.  Connor had been fussing, whiny and fitful since he’d woken up from his afternoon nap, enough so Kirsten had seriously thought of heading out for the hospital on her own.  She’d been shoving necessities into the backpack when Spike burst through the door, bellowing her name.  
  
Ten minutes later they were on their way back to the hospital, Connor strapped into his car seat and Spike anxious to be gone.  
  
So now here she was, walking into the room containing her mother and sister.  Kirsten shook off the eeriness, forcing away the total weirdness.  Dawn was safe now – as safe as possible anyway.  She knew it, could sense it.  Two sets of memories walked side by side through her mind and Kirsten fought the impulse to tell them everything she knew.  Although that might be much worse than what she’d already done and she knew her father wouldn’t want that.  
  
It was time.  Time to go back – well, forward.  She sighed at herself.  Return to where she belonged.  
  
She knew the spell blocking their memories was about to be broken and they too would be returning to what should be.  
  
Her eyes swept the small examining room, noting the twitching figure on the gurney, Dawn’s dark hair hanging down off the side.  Buffy – _Mom_ – was facing the door, her eyes flickering between fear and amusement as she shifted her gaze between Dawn and Spike.  Lines of fatigue bracketed her mouth and Kirsten found herself comparing this with the Mom she’d left behind . . .   
  
And then there was Spike.  Her Daddy.  
  
What had happened to the cynical, almost broken man who’d finally come home. . .   
  
Kirsten sighed, drawing their attention.  Physically they looked pretty much the same, but she knew the intervening fifteen or so years had wrought an emotional toll on them, ravaging them both.    
  
She realized then, at that precise moment, staring at them both, Connor gurgling happily in his bouncy chair, the decision she and the other two had made had been the right one.  
  
Their intentions had been pure – almost completely selfless – and in saving Dawn – they’d saved all of them.  
  
A crooked smile crossed her features, so like her mother’s and both blondes recognized it; and surprising everyone, including herself, Kirsten burst into tears.  
  
Buffy was the first to reach her, her arms encircling her and for the first time since she’d walked through time, Kirsten touched her mother.  
  
“Hey, it’s okay.”  Wiping away the tears, Buffy glanced down into the teen’s eyes.  Understanding came on reluctant feet and try as she might to fight it, Buffy couldn’t play denial girl.  “Time to go, huh?”  
  
Kirsten slowly nodded her head, unwilling to meet either of their gazes.  
  
Spike had moved closer, standing just behind Buffy, his eyes watching both of them intently.  His expression darkened as he watched two of his girls, and he found himself memorizing Kirsten’s features, imprinting them in his head.  There were moments, earlier, when part of him wanted to know just exactly why she’d taken such a terrible risk and what future had she been attempting to avert – and then he thought better of having too much information.  He knew Buffy had felt the same way also, could sense the questions swirling in her head and also her decision to purposefully not ask.  If it was bad enough to send their fifteen year old daughter careening through time, neither one of them wanted to know.  It was enough to know they’d successfully avoided what set Kirsten on this path.  
  
It was done.  Now it was time to send her back and Spike found himself fighting the urge to beg her to stay, knowing how very impossible that urge was.  Buffy pulled back a little, her eyes scanning Kirsten’s face and Spike’s arm stole around her waist, his left hand curving over the lines of Buffy’s still flat belly.  Her right hand linked with his and her left brushed the hair back from Kirsten’s face.   It was a gesture she used often with Dawn and Buffy’s eyes filled with tears again.    
  
“Yeah.  I have . . . I need to go back.”  Her voice hitched and broke more than once, like some weird vocal rollercoaster and Kirsten tried hard to keep the tears from springing to her eyes again.  She shook her head once, fighting the tears and stepped back away from their embrace.  “I know. . .  It’s like really uncool to say it. . .”   Kirsten made a funny face, scrunching up her nose and continued, “But, I just. . . I love you.”  
  
Buffy reached for her again, but Kirsten shook her head and stepped further away.  “I gotta go.“   
  
With a last look into both their eyes, Kirsten headed for the door. It was only Spike’s voice that stopped her.  “How’re you getting back to where you’re supposed to be?”  
  
She paused, her hand on the doorknob, to turn and look at them over her shoulder.  “Same way I got here, I just kinda. . . close my eyes and make it happen.”  
  
“Just close your eyes?  What in fuckin’ hell . . . What the bloody hell do you mean, you just close your eyes?”  His agitation, which had been hovering at dangerous levels for hours now, rose again, and only Buffy’s hand on his arm held him back.  
  
“Look, I don’t really know how to explain it.  Pop does a better job than I do, but then he’s good at this kind of stuff.  All I know is I can make time, I can sorta make time kinda fold in on itself.”  She shrugged, then relented at the looks on their faces.  “I don’t know exactly how I can do it.  It’s like Dawn’s ability to open dimensional walls and Connor’s freaky super strength, and . . .” she paused, thinking better of letting slip anything else.  “So yeah, just like that.  Super side benefits of being hybrids.”  
  
“If you can do that, princess, why is it you need to leave this room?”  Spike was suspicious, and there was a lot of this he was taking on faith that someday he’d understand it all, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled with everything that was happening.  
  
“I don’t.  Not really.  I just kinda . . .”  
  
“Are used to sneaking around?”  Once she thought about it, that scenario made so much more sense then any other and Buffy just had to say it.  
  
Looking for all the world like the busted teen that she was, Kirsten just gaped at her parents.  “Um.  Yeah.  I guess.”  
  
Buffy and Spike shared a look Kirsten didn’t want to understand, except she thought maybe she did, and when Buffy spoke, she was sure of it.  “Did you think we wouldn’t figure it out?  I used to sneak out of my house all the time, trying to hide what I was doing from Mom.  Even after she knew I still climbed out the window some nights.”  
  
There wasn’t anything Kirsten could say to either of them and she had the sinking feeling she and her siblings were never going to be able to get away with much.  A deep sigh emerged from her mouth and Kirsten didn’t meet their eyes.  “I really have to go.”  
  
Neither one of them spoke, waiting for Kirsten’s next move. She stepped forward to hug them one more time and smiled nervously when Spike whispered, “I’ll see you after, bit.”  
  
Hiding the frisson of fear creeping down her back, she stood away from them, and ducked her head, unwilling to meet his intense gaze.  “Okay, Daddy.”  
  
She closed her eyes, concentrated on her own heartbeat, ignoring the sounds from the others in the room with her.  Time slowed as her heartbeat did and Kirsten concentrated on the last thing she’d seen in her time and her connection with Robbie.  Focusing heavily on that, Kirsten felt the edges of her consciousness alter, thinning, stretching out endlessly and she took a step forward and while Buffy and Spike looked on, she disappeared.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Wesley and Giles had performed a trace locator for spell activity in the last three days and found a generalized location of where the spell had been performed.  Once that had been done, it was easy to perform a second trace spell, for any magics associated with the original spell.  Using the map, it was clear from the pin-points the spell had some far reaching impact.  There were traces of the spell’s effects in the Magic Box, the house on Revello, which they’d expected; completely unexpected was a faint trace connection somewhere in the location of the docks.    
  
Anya stared at the map, looking over Giles’ shoulder while Wesley tried to narrow down the faint trace.  It was Jonathan who pointed out exactly what they were all thinking.  “I bet that’s where the demon is.”  
  
“It’s possible.”  Giles wasn’t quite ready to concede the point, especially given how little they knew for sure about this whole situation. Sunnydale wasn’t that big a town, and the map was a fairly large one – he hadn’t said anything about the location, though he was fairly certain the spell had been performed in very close proximity to the Rosenberg residence.  He was shaken from his thoughts by Faith’s voice.  
  
“So do we need a visual of this sometimes invisible demon?”    
  
Wesley shook his head.  “I’d feel better if we had a confirmation of sorts, plus once we have a visual sighting, the spell can be performed and you can destroy it.”  
  
“All that, huh?  We gonna do this now or wait for the power blonds?”  Faith folded her arms across her chest, eyes flicking between the Watchers.  
  
Without waiting for Giles, Wesley said, “I think we should go ahead without them.  I’m fairly confident you can take care of anything that might pop up.”  
  
“Agreed.”  Giles began gathering up the supplies, shoving them into a bag.  “Buffy needs to focus on Dawn.  We can deal with this.”  
  
Satisfied they were okay with the situation, Faith relaxed fractionally, then moved to the weapons.  “So how are we doing this?  You guys do the mojo and I’m just the hired muscle?”  
  
Grimacing at her description, Giles shook his head.  “Not quite.  You and Wesley will be armed.  I should be able to perform the spell on my own.  Jonathan?  Would you mind assisting me?”  
  
The small young man puffed up, more than a bit surprised by Giles’ request, yet incredibly pleased. Anya, however, had a different reaction.  
  
“What?  Why are you taking him?  How come he gets to go?  I’m a very competent spellcaster, and . . . and I can fight too!”  
  
Drawing her away, Giles smiled down at her, his eyes twinkling.  “There isn’t anyone I’d rather have beside me, Anya, however, if you come with us now, who will watch the shop?  I don’t trust anyone but you with my shop.”  
  
It took her a beat, but she finally returned his smile.  “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”  And she threw her arms around him in an impulsive hug.  “In that case, I’m glad you’re taking Jonathan.  I’m sure he’ll be adequate.”  
  
“If all goes well, everything should be back to normal shortly.”  
  
“I hope so, because otherwise I’ll have to balance the books without knowing any of our information.”  The prospect seemed to send her into a bit of a tizzy, though before he could respond, Faith was calling out, “Time to motor.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Using his limited knowledge of the town, Sam relied on what information he did have and his own heightened senses in order to find Spike.  
  
Gambling heavily, Lawson followed the most recent trail his senses had picked up, leading him back toward the hospital.  He hadn’t expected that, though the closer his steps got toward the building the stronger the trace was.  Spike had always had a distinctive signature, strong as Angel’s, yet just a shade different – somehow deeper, more resonant.  Had to be because they’d spent his first days as a vampire in Spike’s company, learning from him.  Sam had never read up on it, but he thought it might be a bit like imprinting – bonding with the first of your kind whether or not that first being was the one directly contributing to your makeup.  
  
Staring up at the building, Lawson wondered why he was taking this huge risk.  
  
It was the only hope he had anymore.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Tara found herself sneaking glances at Willow all day, finding herself falling in love all over again.  Everything had been so tumultuous over the past, well, couple of years, she wasn’t sure if her emotions were because of Willow or the introduction she’d had into what constituted reality in Sunnydale.  Although now, with Willow by her side and nothing pressing, no apocalypse looming on the horizon, no big bad to worry about, no demons or vampires to fight, no mourning – just her, Tara was realizing it was Willow, and only Willow that had stolen her heart.     
  
Not that being part of the Scoobies wasn’t a rush in itself, because it very much was.  It was just  being with Willow made everything sharper, more real, more. . . intense.  She loved Willow, with everything she had, with everything she was. . . and somehow she knew, Willow loved her the same way.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Foregoing his usual behavior, Jenner decided he was going to walk the boundaries of his new temporary territory.  There had been no word from Angelus, which Jenner took as a sign of his inability to focus on or clear up his priorities.  Only two days in this town and he was already regretting his decision to leave Plymouth.  Mentally tallying up his information, weighing it against what he knew of the Slayer’s situation, Jenner decided he would give it a full seven days before he headed back for England.  
  
No amount of revenge was worth it.  
  
With Hawkins and the rest of his people  trailing behind him, Jenner headed out, looking for a decent meal.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike had forgotten to bring food for Buffy, though he and Kirsten remembered to bring bottles and formula for Connor.  For the first few moments after Kirsten’s disappearance, neither one had spoken, unsure of what to say.  Something Kirsten said about her and Dawn and Connor being different because they were hybrids echoed in Buffy’s head and she tried several times to bring it up to Spike, though every time she opened her mouth, no words would come.  
  
It wasn’t until her belly started rumbling that Spike stirred, moving from his position beside Dawn.  The second time a loud grumble from her sounded, Spike was halfway to the door, asking her what she wanted to eat.   
  
So now she was all alone again, with just the two children and her thoughts.  Which she really didn’t want to be.  Thinking.  _Only badness comes from thinking._ If not for the rumbling in her belly, Buffy’s mind would have been numb.  Connor was happily gurgling in his chair, his chubby little hands wrapped around a chew toy he kept trying to get into his mouth.  He was blissfully unaware of the stress and tension surrounding the adults, happy just to be near those he considered family.  
  
There was a noise out in the hallway and the door creaked partially open.  A tall dark haired man stepped inside the room as the tingles signaling vampire started.  Buffy got to her feet, her eyes scanning the room, looking for a weapon; and angling herself to protect the other two.  
  
The good looking vampire straightened to his full height, his hands outstretched almost in surrender.  “Hi.  Ah. . . is William. . . Spike here?”  
  
Buffy took a step closer, pushing him back toward the door.  “No.  What do you want with him?”  
  
He was trying to stay calm, moving very slowly, keeping his movements to a bare minimum.  The last thing he wanted to do was incite the Slayer.  Who was, at the moment, eyeing him rather suspiciously.  
  
He was trapped now, just beside the door.    
  
“Gonna answer me?”  She watched him closely, trying to figure out what this vampire wanted.  
  
The door flung open again and Spike strode in, hands full of snacks and drinks.  “Got some fruity yogurt an’ some. . .”  
  
Spike took in the scene next to him, his eyes drawn immediately to the sight of Buffy facing down an unknown . . . “Lawson?”  
  
He moved slowly past the Slayer, looking for a place to put down his loot.  Dumping everything on the table next to Dawn’s bed, Spike turned around to face the other two.  
  
“Hello, chief.”  Lawson didn’t move from his spot, or lower his hands; nor did he take his eyes from Buffy’s face.


	49. Cutting the heart asunder

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 49.  Cutting the heart asunder  
  
Love is dead; let lovers’ eyes,  
Locked in endless dreams,  
The extremes of all extremes,  
Ope no more, for now Love dies.   
    John Ford, The Broken Heart (IV, iii)  
  
When children's dreams are shattered, the whole world weeps  
    7th Heaven  
  
The beauty of the world has two edges,   
one of laughter,   
one of anguish,   
cutting the heart asunder.   
    Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own  
  
How strange when an illusion dies,  
it's as though you've lost a child.   
    Judy Garland  
  
We cast away priceless time in  
dreams, born of imagination,   
fed upon illusion, and  
put to death by reality.   
    Judy Garland _**  
  
  
  
Faith walked to the far right of the three men, her eyes constantly scanning around, looking for anything that seemed out of place.   So far, though, things had been strangely quiet.  “Okay, so, been out of the loop for a while, not patrolling and shit, but uh, this is so not normal.”  
  
Wesley hefted his blade, getting a feel for the balance, then answered Faith’s non-question.  “It is rather quiet.  Though I can’t honestly say whether or not this is normal lately.  We won’t know for certain until this spell is broken.”  
  
“So I should expect a whole shitload of vamps once we’re done?”  Faith half turned away from them, her eyes focusing on something moving around in the shadows.  “Watcher-man, I think you could set up here . . . got something.”  
  
She stalked forward, her eyes peering intently into the gloom, every muscle on alert.  Wesley came up behind her and Faith tensed up even more.  “Gimme some room.   Just stay back.”    
  
Jonathan was emptying the bag Giles had handed to him, setting up the supplies on the ground, while Giles drew a quick protective circle around the pair of them.  Calling the quarters in an extra measure, Giles began the steps to stabilize the demon.  Faith moved stealthily forward, poised for action, Wesley a few feet behind her.    
  
The only noise was the sound of Giles’ voice intoning the spell Wesley had formulated and the soft hiss of Jonathan’s breathing.  An itching tingle started running up the center of Faith’s spine and the air in front of her began to shimmer, like the heat waves bouncing off a scorching sidewalk.  It flickered and wavered, the bricks of the walls in front of them altering in appearance and the ugliest looking demon Faith had seen in a long while materialized almost out of thin air.    
  
Slayer and demon stared at each other for long seconds, both of them caught by surprise.  Faith was the first to move, pushing Wesley away, giving herself even more room to work.  “Hello there, ugly.  Time to die.”  
  
Swinging her short sword in a looping arc, Faith balanced her weight, falling easily and naturally into a fighting stance.  Muscles long unused to slaying woke in the dark night, singing with the prospect of violence, and the dark haired Slayer grinned in anticipation.  
  
The demon surged forward, a heavy fist arcing wide of Faith’s head as she leaned back out of reach.  Faith pivoted, bringing up her left fist to punch the demon’s head.  Drool and cool green fluid flowed from its gaping orifice, something Faith registered as a mouth, then it turned, growling and shuffling deep in its throat.  Bringing up the sword, Faith cut a long thin line across its back, more of the green fluid oozing out of its torso.  The thing was small, about the same size as Faith, with a greyish-green skin and fur.  It had no discernable eyes, at least none she could see, but the thing could definitely sense where she was.  Caught off-guard for a moment, Faith backpedaled away when the creature  came at her, fists swinging, then brought up her right hand.  Swinging wildly yet controlled, Faith cut through the arm-like appendage aiming for her head, then moved in for the kill.  The creature faltered, and Faith’s attention was drawn away when Wesley ground out, “Vampires.”  
  
Giles broke the circle, stepping outside the protective ring, his crossbow at the ready, aimed at one of the vampires who were standing on the roofs of the buildings nearby.  Faith was still battling the creature, the others warily watching their opponents, when the creature growled low, grabbing for the sword.  Once more Faith pivoted, kicking up with one foot, turning around in a complete circle.  Using her momentum, Faith threw her upper body into the swing, bringing the short sword up in an arc.  The blade bit deep into the creature’s neck, oozing green goo now spurting in gushes.  The stuff splashed against her chest and Faith grimaced.  Bracing her foot against the dying creature’s chest, she pulled the sword out, then swung the blade, loping off the head.  
  
“Ah, this is freaking disgusting.”  Ignoring the corpse on the ground, Faith followed her companions’ gazes upward when none of them commented.  The looming figures were dark against the early night sky, most of them huge and imposing.  Faith stepped back, motioning the others to close ranks behind her.  Just as Wesley started moving, one of the figures dropped down, landing lightly on his feet, facing her.  
  
He was huge.  Standing at least six foot four – if not more, Faith had to crane her head to look at him.  _Damn he’s a big boy._    
  
For the first time in a long while, Faith understood why . . .   His eyes swept over her, lingering on her hips and breasts, but it was when their eyes met for the first time Faith felt her breath begin to hitch.  
  
The vampire stepped out of the shadows and Faith got a good look at his face.   It was all planes and angles – and her pulse sped up.  
  
Jenner was surprised.  He’d never expected her to fight alone without Spike.  She was gorgeous, but then that was to be expected.  Most slayers were attractive, some unusually so.  This one was no exception.  
  
They’d still not spoken, neither one of them willing to break the silence, nor the spell forming between them.    
  
Finally, after long moments, Jenner opened his mouth.  
  
His voice was goose-bump inducing deep, just a bare hint of his native Welsh accent leaking through, though Faith couldn’t place it.  Just like her older counterpart, Faith proved less than immune.  
  
“Slayer.”  
  
With a hint of her own accent and a bit of her own sass showing, Faith returned his one word greeting.  “Vampire.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Anya was in the middle of a very lucrative sale when she completely lost her train of thought and very nearly her balance. She swayed a bit on the step stool, closed her eyes and leaned heavily against the shelves.  One of the apothecary jars containing aconite teetered precariously and Anya slapped her hand against the glass, shoving it forcefully back onto the shelf.  
  
Inhaling deeply, she somehow managed to get her balance back, corral her suddenly raging temper, grasp the jar of Atlantean nettles and step down, all before her customer realized something had happened.  Reaching for the gloves and tongs she kept underneath the counter for doling out the deadly herbs, she quickly ran through the list of sale items, reciting them by rote, while her mind seethed with fury.  
  
They’d done it – managed to break the spell by destroying the invisible demon – and Anya knew beyond any shadow of a doubt exactly who had performed the spell.  
  
Finally concluding the sale, Anya chirped out, “Thank you for shopping at the Magic Box, suppliers for all your mystical needs on the Hellmouth and largest supplier on the West Coast.  Please come again and spend your cash, because after all, spending boosts the economy.”  
  
Once the woman was out of hearing range, her tone changed and her words grew darker.  “Damn that girl!  I told Giles she was over the edge and that idiotic man did nothing.  Someone needs to put a stop to her.”  
  
Reaching for the feather duster, Anya almost stalked angrily through the shop, no outlet for her temper other than cleaning.  
  
“Unthinking, inconsiderate . . .”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The only warning Oz had came when his wolf caught a faint trace of Tara’s scent on him, when suddenly, like a kick to the gut, the past was all there.  A growl escaped from his throat and he missed a note.  His fingers faltered, although he was able to recover before the beat changed and messed up the whole band.  
  
His mind was swirling with the influx of memories, most of them centered on the reality of what had been the past couple of months without Willow.  Now he understood why he smelled so much like Tara – they’d practically been inseparable, spending weekends and nights hanging out – and not to mention the time he’d spent sleeping in her bed.  Even though nothing of a romantic nature had taken place, he still felt the way he’d felt earlier, when he’d been trying to figure out why her scent was all over him.    
  
She was pack.  Tara was part of him, whether he understood the reasons why or not, it hardly mattered anymore.  The feeling had been growing, slowly, inexorably, but growing all the same.  It had taken this spell, the theft of his memories and hers, to clarify the emotions.  
  
 _Okay dude, so now you know you aren’t losing your mind . . . what the hell are you gonna do about it?_   He thought for a moment, his mind blank, then realized he was going to do what he always did after practice.    
  
Go home.  To Tara.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy had edged closer to Lawson, protecting the two non-combatants who were still blissfully unaware of the tensions suddenly appearing in the room.  Spike was still staring at the other vampire, his thoughts all jumbled.  Lawson was quiet, neither moving nor breathing, his eyes carefully on the Slayer.  
  
Long moments passed while Spike tried processing what Lawson’s presence actually meant.  “What. . . the. . . thought you were long gone.”    
  
“No, sir.  Just been under the radar for a long time.”  Lawson still hadn’t moved.    
  
“You know this guy?”  She returned the favor, not taking her eyes from the vampire against the wall.  
  
“A bit.  Haven’t seen him for years.”  Spike moved closer, easing behind Buffy, further protecting the children.  
  
With a hitch in her voice, Buffy asked him her current biggest fear.  “Is he one of yours?”  
    
“No.  ‘E’s one of the great git’s.”  There was no doubt in her mind he was telling the truth, she could feel the conviction coming through the claim, not to mention hear it clearly in his voice.    
  
“When was the last time you saw him?”    
  
“1941.”  He thought for a moment, then corrected himself.  “No, it was ‘43.  Just after I’d been clipped by the Nazis.”  
  
She was weighing this information against the obviously submissive stance of the vampire in front of her.  “Was he a vamp then?”    
  
“Ah, yes an’ no, pet.”  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Spike rock forward on the balls of his feet, his body poised in case of an outbreak of violence.  “Was stuck in a sub on the bottom of the Atlantic.  Yanks had gotten Angelus to agree to get the sub movin’.  Came down an’ turned this one here, so’s we could rescue the rest o’ them.”  
  
Both Lawson and Spike knew he’d left out a crucial part of the narrative, leaving out Spike’s part in the carnage that had taken place, the aftermath or that Angel really hadn’t had much of an option about turning the young ensign.  Lawson’s sense of loyalty kept him silent and Spike’s own sense of preservation kept his mouth shut for once.  
  
“He did it after the soul?”  Her confusion was clearly evident and the question obviously answered an unspoken one of Lawson’s because the other vampire shifted his gaze to stare at Spike.    
  
“He had a soul? How did that happen?  Did you know about it?”  His shoulders slumped and Lawson continued, his voice hoarse and whisper soft, “That explains so much . . . I didn’t know.”  Raising tortured eyes to Spike, Sam asked him, “Did you know?”  
  
“Not then.  No.”  Spike shook his head.  “Didn’t find out until much later.”    
  
Silently watching the interplay between the two vampires, Buffy didn’t miss the tortured look on the stranger’s face and she turned a curious gaze on Spike.  Before he responded to her look, Spike focused his piercing stare on the other vampire.  “You gonna behave yourself?”  
  
“Yes, sir.  That’s why I’m here.”  He still hadn’t moved from the spot Buffy had pinned him in earlier and he made no move to change that.  
  
Breathing out a deep sigh, Spike nodded his head.  Motioning to the vampire in front of them, he said, “Slayer, this is Lawson.“  
  
Their gazes swung back to the other, and Spike said, “Lawson, this is Buffy.”  
  
She almost chirped out ‘Nice to meet you’ when she was struck by a wave of dizzying nausea.  Buffy reached out a hand, her fingers closing around Spike’s forearm and she swallowed hard.  “Kitten?”  
  
The wave of nausea washed through both of them, then Spike leaned forward, catching the wavering form of his mate in his arms.  “Oh my god.  What the hell was that?”  
  
Knowledge washed over them simultaneously, the veil obscuring their memories disappearing in the backwash of emotions.  Spike’s jaw clenched, every muscle tensing as he tried to come to grips with what his returned memories were telling him.  Buffy started to wheel away from him, but his hand grasping hers forestalled the movement and his arms wrapped around her, holding her against his chest.    
  
At first she fought him, fought against the comfort he was offering.  Though when the reality of what had happened finally settled within her, Buffy buried her face into his chest, her hiccuping breaths muffled against him.    
  
Lawson stepped away, giving the unlikely couple of vampire and Slayer privacy, not understanding at all what had just occurred only knowing his presence at this moment was intrusive and unnecessary.  
  
Buffy was mumbling against his torso, her hands clutching at the material of his soft shirt.  “What the hell was that?  Who would do something like that to us?  Who would want to hurt us that much?  And Dawnie . . . oh my god.   None of this would. . . she wouldn’t . . . oh, Spike.  What . . . how did this happen?”  
  
“Shhhh, kitten.  Gonna figure it out.  We’ll get the Watchers on this, an’ we’ll get answers right quick.”  He held onto her as the tears started to overwhelm her and everything came crashing back; all her lost memories, being dead – and where she’d been – how she’d been ripped unwillingly from heaven and by whom, Willow’s increasing spiral into darkness, Angel’s loss of soul, Connor. . . everything.    
  
Spike led Buffy over to the chair beside Dawn’s bed, sitting her down in it gently.  He was on his knees before her, his big strong hands wiping away the tears, soft voice rumbling quietly between them.  Lawson was frozen in place for long moments, focusing on the tones of the master vampire’s voice and ignoring the words, listening to the heartbeats of humans around him.    
  
The Slayer was quiet now, one of her hands resting on Spike’s, the other brushing against his cheek.  The vampire leaned forward, pressing a kiss against her forehead, whispered something then got to his feet.  Spike’s eyes caught Lawson’s and he focused his considerable attention on the other vampire.  Glancing once more down at Buffy, Spike tilted his head, indicating the other and she nodded once.  Moving close, Spike grabbed Lawson and pushed him into the corner furthest away from his small family.    
  
“What brings you round these parts, Lawson?”  Spike stared the taller man down, his laser blue eyes boring into Lawson’s brown ones.  “An’ why did you come lookin’ for me?”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
He’d been waiting for a couple of hours for someone to come relieve him and stay with Cordy overnight.  Usually it was Wesley, sometimes Giles – but someone usually managed to get there before eight-ish.  Xander had no idea how long it had been since he’d gone home to change his clothes, nor how long he’d been sitting with Cordy.  The Buffybot was beginning to get on his nerves though, with the constant cheeryness and uber-bright smile.  
  
Xander was sitting beside Cordy’s bed, his eyes on the television screen, ignoring everything around him.  He missed the minute fluttering of Cordelia’s eyelids, the involuntary twitch of long silent lips and the restless movements of her fingers.  
  
He was watching _NextGen_ , his mind wholly focused on the drama unfolding in an unreal dimension, missing the real drama being enacted beside him.  
  
So instead of Xander, it was the Buffybot who watched with avid interest, fascinated with tracking the infinitesimal signs of the return of consciousness.    
  
And so it was the Buffybot who saw the tiny, split-second moment when Cordelia opened her eyes.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
It was sometime after seven, and the two girls had been out all day, window shopping, reconnecting, just sharing time and falling in love again.  
  
Fleeting touches – a fingertip brushing over a soft hand –  a lock of hair brushed back, exposing pink-tinged cheek – the low dip of a blouse, baring a small pert breast, nipple hard and eager.  
  
Their day had been filled with such moments.  
  
And now, as the moon began her climb into the winter’s sky, time it was to end the teasing.  By unspoken agreement – for who needs words when two lovers are attuned? – the girls headed for the place they called home.  
  
Each one was achingly aware of the other, passion flaring slowly between them.  
  
They were halfway home – nearer than not – when Tara stopped her lover with a gentle touch.  “Will– Willow?  I just . . .”  A soft twisted smile covered her features, almost as if she were too shy to give voice to her emotions.  Her whisper was heartbreakingly soft – a breath on the soft breeze – but the words reached her lover in any case.    
  
“I love you, Willow.”  
  
And Tara bent her head down to kiss her.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
 _  
Oh, he is one **fine** looking stud.  Could ride him . . ._  Faith realized the track her mind was heading down and forcefully pushed it away.  _Thinking like that is no freaking good.  And the hell?_   “Why would I be worried about blondie?”  
  
Jenner had unconsciously moved closer, angling himself to get a better look at the Slayer.  Had he actually asked about Spike?  Jenner didn’t remember voicing that question out loud, though he must have, because the Slayer answered him.   He could understand how Spike would fall for this one.  She was all fire and brass, built just right for long days in bed.  He’d personally never quite understood William’s obsession until this moment.  If the rest of his slayers were even half of this one – he very much understood why.  Her husky voice broke into his musings and Jenner realized he’d never actually answered her question.  
  
“So buddy, got a name?”  _Geezuz girl, what the hell are ya doing?  Copying B?_   She shook off the vibrations this vampire was sending – or at least tried too.  Aside from Kakistos, this was the oldest vamp she’d ever run across – and Faith wasn’t sure if it was because of his age or his physical attributes her panties were all in a knot.  
  
“Jenner.”  Faith shook her head, watching him warily as he moved closer.  
  
“What is it with you vamps?  Two names aren’t good enough for ya?”  
  
Both of them ignored the fidgeting Jonathan, who was the only one truly unnerved by the situation.  Jenner was fighting back the urge to laugh – the Slayer’s comments striking him as funny.  
  
“Most vampires discard lots of things when they’ve turned – usually one name or the other.”  Jenner found himself needlessly explaining this – which deepened his amusement.  Faith was about to comment when unearthly deep canine growls filled the air.  
  
Everyone froze – including the vampires on the rooftops.  Another growl sounded, echoing off the brick walls around them.  All eyes focused on the source – a darker shadow hovering between two buildings off to Faith’s right.  A hound taller than Jonathan appeared in the alley leading toward the residential area – eyes glowing red.  
  
The hound bayed once, then half turned back the way he’d come, as if urging them to follow.  Faith stepped forward and an incongruous yip of approval emerged from the hound.  
  
She took another step and the hound started walking away.  So with a glance at both Giles and Wesley, she shrugged and followed.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike had Lawson penned closer than Buffy had earlier – hemming him in despite their height difference.  Curiosity was clear in Spike’s gaze and Lawson decided in that split second to take the opening he’d been given.  
  
Answering both gaze and verbalized question, Sam started speaking.  “When the sire’s call came through the bloodlines, I honestly thought about ignoring it, and I did, the first time.”  He shrugged.  “The second call is the one. . . I . . . it had the ring of a command, though I doubt it was directed at me.”  
  
Spike relaxed fractionally, although he didn’t move away.  “Felt it myself.  Ignored it.  Had m’self a better deal.”  
  
Lawson nodded, his eyes drifting toward Buffy’s seated form.  “I didn’t.  Had no reason really to ignore it.  Problem is, I’m not entirely sure I fit in with everyone.”  
  
A wry smile crossed Spike’s features, his head nodding in understanding.  With Angelus it was all about what he wanted – his rules – and there was no help if you differed.  He sported a few scars over differences of opinion with the great git and the only reason why Lawson wasn’t sporting similar scars was because of his abandonment.  Spike’s eyes darkened then a mischievous glint twinkled.  “Got a bit of my own problem fittin’ in with the relatives.”  
  
Picking up on the gist of Spike’s comment, Lawson continued, “Yeah, well, once I got here I sort of remembered that.  Since I wasn’t exactly fitting in at the mansion,” he hesitated when Spike shook his head and snorted, “I guess. . . I thought maybe you could help.”  
  
Spike stared at him, but it was Buffy’s voice that broke the sudden silence.  “How do you expect us to help you?”  
  
He had the grace to look abashed.  “I don’t know.”  He swung his gaze between the two.  “I didn’t know he had a soul . . . that was. . .  Look, I understand if you don’t want to help me.  I’m nothing to you.  But I’ve been watching you and I saw,”  he paused, looking steadily at Buffy, “I’m sorry about your sister.”  
  
Buffy stiffened behind Spike and he could feel her temper rising.  Spike moved back, casting a sideways glance at his mate.  Lawson looked genuinely saddened and it was Spike who acknowledged it.  “Thanks.”  
  
Another awkward silence filled the small room, each of the adults lost in their own thoughts.  The silence was broken when Maureen Osbourne blew into the room, mouth running at a  rapid fire – “One of you needs to come out.  I’m sorry about this, but there’s a huge – and I mean freaking huge dog howling outside the ER entrance.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“A dog?”  
  
“Yeah.  A huge dog, one like Oz, I’m thinking.”  The mention of her nephew caught the attention of both blondes, and Spike grabbed Lawson then headed for the door.  
  
“Stay put, kitten, ‘ll be right back.”  
  
The two vampires were gone before Buffy could object.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Just as she was about to brush her lips against Willow’s, Tara was hit with a wave of dizziness, enough to cause her to waver on her feet.  Her eyes closed and she had to swallow, fighting the memories flooding her mind.  
  
She pulled away from the kiss, sudden tears filling her eyes.  Willow reached for her, a question in her gaze and Tara flinched visibly, shying away from her former girlfriend.  
  
“Baby?  What’s wrong?”  Willow’s face swam with confusion.  “Tara, what’s wrong?”  
  
“How could you? “   Willow reached for her again and this time Tara took a huge step back, out of Willow’s reach.  “Don’t touch me.”  
  
“Tara?”  Willow stepped closer, hand outstretched to keep Tara in place.  
  
“I told you no.”  
  
Once more Willow moved closer, only this time an unearthly low growl sounded in the air at her movement.  
  
Tara raised tear-stained eyes at the sound, focusing on the sight behind Willow.  
  
Three hounds stood behind Willow, eyes trained on the thin redhead, jaws gaping.


	50. Evil gains work their punishment

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter 50.  Evil gains work their punishment.   
  
Evil gains work their punishment.   
    Sophocles,  Antigone, l. 326.  
  
Did she make you cry  
Make you break down  
Shatter your illusions of love  
Is it over now, do you know how  
Pick up the pieces and go home.  
    Gold Dust Woman, Fleetwood Mac, Rumors  
  
Whatever evil a man may think of women,   
there is no woman but thinks more.   
    Sébastien-Roch Nicolas De Chamfort, Maximes et Pensées, vol. 2, no. 414   
  
The evil that is in the world almost   
always comes of ignorance,   
and good intentions may do as much harm   
as malevolence if they lack understanding.  
    Albert Camus  
   
In revenge and in love   
woman is more barbaric   
than man is.   
    Friedrich Nietzsche, Sämtliche Werke: Kritische Studienausgabe, vol. 5, p. 97   
  
No man is clever enough to know all the evil he does.  
    Francois VI, duc de La Rochefoucauld  
**_  
  
  
  
When they got outside, the hound moved away, almost urging them to follow.  Spike raised a brow, knowing what the hounds were looking for, and why.  What he didn’t understand was why the hound was here looking for him.  
  
Making a split second decision, Spike shot a look at the other vampire.  “Be right back, don’t disappear.”  
  
Nodding his head, Lawson asked, “What’s going on?”  
  
“Never you mind.  Jus’ don’t leave.”  He was gone in a blink, then before Lawson could get bored, Spike was back.  
  
“C’mon mate, we’re gonna tag after the pooch.”  
  
The blond was off then, through the door and stalking after the huge dog long before Lawson stirred.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
He’d never been so surprised in his existence when the Slayer had turned her back on him and walked off after the huge hound.  Stunned for a moment, Jenner turned slightly bemused eyes on her retreating form, then signaled up to Hawkins and the others.  Hawkins dropped down beside him, waiting for the orders he knew were coming.  When Jenner spoke, he wasn’t surprised.  
  
“You and I are going after them.”  He pointed to Hawkins.  “The rest of you find someone – but don’t over-indulge.  Last thing I want is the Slayer coming down on us.”  
  
Dismissing the rest of the minions, Jenner set off after the Slayer, leaving Hawkins to follow behind.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Faith was aware of the others behind her, including the two vampires who were hanging back, tracking their movements.  She said nothing to either Wesley or Giles, rightly figuring they could sense them also.  
  
The tingles she and Buffy both referred to as spider sense had flared into something else entirely.  She was aware of more than just the presence of the trailing vamps – Faith was positive one was Jenner.  
  
Every nerve was humming, jumping beneath her skin, muscles tense and pulsing.  The nape of her neck was itchy, and she was beginning to wonder if this was how Spike felt to Buffy.  If he made her nerves sing – made her belly flip just by being near.  Which led her mind down another path, how it would feel to actually have him touch her. . . _the sex must be hot . . .  
_  
Faith shook off the thoughts of sex, sneaking a glance at Wesley, noting his attention was riveted by the hound.  
  
It was Giles though, who voiced the concern they were all beginning to feel.  “We’re too close.  The house isn’t that far.”  
  
Wesley was the first to spot the others – and it was his soft exclamation, “I knew I should have said something.”  
  
The two girls were facing each other, separated by a few feet and Willow was obviously the object of the hounds’ search, because the hound their strange cavalcade had been following stopped beside Tara, growling deeply at the redhead.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy watched the door close behind Spike and the other, her eyes widening, unable to believe he would leave just like that.  The room remained silent until Buffy’s belly growled again.  Maureen reacted quickly, sitting Buffy down and handing the girl the yogurt sitting on the table.  Buffy had a spoonful of the stuff in her mouth before she realized it.  
  
“You have to eat, sweetie.  You can’t forget to do that.”  She was busily unpacking the bag Spike had dumped on the table, clucking her tongue and tsking at some of his selections. “What was he thinking?  Muffins, cookies, chocolate. . . what was that man thinking?”  
  
The door burst open and the man in question flew through, his eyes unerringly finding his girl.  “Love, it’s one of those damned hounds, ‘ve got to go.”  
  
“Spike?  What?”  Buffy started to get up, but he was there in front of her, down on his knees.  
  
“No, you stay with Dawn an’ the boy.  Should be back soon.”  He leaned in for a kiss, grabbing his duster from behind her.  “Love you.”  
  
“You too.”  He licked some yogurt from the corner of her lips and was gone.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Gunn had nothing more than an address, no directions and no idea how to get there.  Fred was quiet beside him, her eyes scanning street signs and numbers, looking for some clue they were nearing their destination.  The exit from the freeway was into a residential area, and while he had originally thought about going directly to the Magic Box, figuring it would be the easier of the two places to find, Gunn had made a wrong turn and ended up heading out of town on the local roads.    
  
They’d wasted time finding a turn off and heading back into Sunnydale, and he looked at the sign announcing the city limits and laughed.  The sign was steel reinforced, with a double set of posts into the ground.  Wesley had told him the story of Spike’s penchant for knocking the damn thing down and he wondered who was the city official smart enough to order the replacement this way.  
  
He was busily recounting the story, at least as much as Wesley had told him, when Fred’s soft voice interrupted him.  “Look, there – see?”  
  
Gunn’s eyes followed the line of her outstretched arm, straining to see the figures standing almost in the middle of the street.  “Yeah.  Got it.”  
  
Turning the wheel, he dovetailed a little, then brought the truck under control, aiming for the group.  “There’s Wesley.”  
  
Fred was practically bouncing in her seat, her eyes fixed on whatever was happening outside.  Gunn pulled the truck over, throwing the gear into park, while Fred scrambled out before the engine stopped running.  It wasn’t until he was out and the loud, almost subsonic growls reached his ears and Gunn raced behind Fred, realizing they were heading into a situation.  
  
A not so good situation.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
They could hear the two girls fighting from down the block.  Willow – that traitorous bitch was pleading with his Glinda, who was, bless her, standing her ground.  
  
Spike nearly outpaced the hound, racing toward the girl, anxious to get there before Willow did something to hurt Tara.  Somehow, though he was unsure how he knew, Spike was certain the spell had been the work of Willow.  Rage was coursing through him, fueled by the image of Dawn lying on the gurney, bloodless and unresponsive.  
  
All this – the grief and pain of the last two days could be laid square on the back of Willow.    
  
All of it.   
  
Not just the last two days either.   
  
Willow was responsible for Buffy’s return, and part of him was grateful; would always be grateful for that.  Yet a bigger part of him was angry with the witch.  She’d done the unthinkable – torn his girl from the reward she’d richly deserved.  Spike would never understand how Willow could be so blind – believing Buffy had been trapped in a hell dimension.  He might be without a soul, but even he’d known Buffy wouldn’t have gone to a hellish place.    
  
The Huntsman and Wesley’s research had told them to watch out for Willow, not in so many words, yet the inference was clear.  Willow, by her blind actions, had betrayed Dawn, Tara, and Buffy – it was just a toss up which of the last two she’d hurt more.  
  
The hound was leading them toward  – suddenly Spike was filled with certainty –  Willow.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
There was no pain.  
  
Strange muted noises filled her head and she blinked, trying to remember where she was.  
  
Film covered her eyes and she blinked again.  
  
 _White.  
  
White . . . ceiling._  She tried lifting her arms, but there was no strength and her muscles couldn’t – wouldn’t respond.  Her brain’s commands weren’t getting through.  Fingers twitched and her eyes fluttered closed once more.  
  
A whisper soft whimper sounded in her throat, harsh and pain-filled.  
  
The muted voices disappeared.  
  
“Cordy?  Was that you?”  
  
 _Voice . . . know that voice . . . can’t . . ._  
  
Something warm touched her hand and she tried to close her fingers around it.    
  
“Hey, Cordy.  It’s Xander.  Can you hear me?”  A pause.  “C’mon, Cordy, squeeze my finger, blink your eyes or something.  Lemme know you’re in there.”  
  
She tried.  She really did.  Her muscles weren’t responding to any of her brain’s commands.   
  
“Cordy, c’mon, gimme something, some sort of sign.”  Her eyes fluttered, slowly lifting.  
  
Cordelia’s first sight in almost two weeks was the tear-filled brown eyes of her ex-boyfriend.  
  
“Oh my god.  Cordy. . . no, don’t go to sleep.  Stay awake.  I’ll be right back.”  
  
He was gone before she could protest.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Maureen Osbourne had gone on her rounds and also to the kitchens on a mission to get Buffy something more substantial then the junk food and one yogurt Spike had brought back.  
  
Connor was asleep now, his head on her shoulder, warm breath brushing over her cheek.  Buffy was dozing also, one hand on the gurney next to Dawn, the other resting on the baby’s back.  Sleep was easier than thinking – thinking was hard – thinking lead to memories, and Buffy so wasn’t up for thinking.    
  
She remembered everything.  
  
Glory.  Dying.  Being in heaven.    
  
Coming back – being ripped from heaven.  
  
Spike finding her, protecting her, caring for her . . . caring . . . loving.  
  
She remembered Tara, and everything she’d done for them.  Was still doing.  
  
She remembered Dawn – who she really was – how the monks had made her.  
  
Buffy’s sleepy eyes watched  the rise and fall of Dawn’s chest, traveled over her, focusing   
on her face.  
  
There was so much of Spike in her features, their real coloring – eyes and hair, his nose – Dawn was already showing signs of beauty.  Buffy supposed they’d have to watch . . . but probably not.  
  
Casey’s death had hit her hard.  
  
Whoever had performed the spell had stolen all their memories – Casey’s death was on their hands – because there was no way any of them would have been so reckless had their memories been intact.  
  
Dawn stirred, shifting uneasily in her drug induced sleep.  Buffy watched, her eyes trained on Dawn’s face, willing her to wake up and be okay.  Her hand reached out, brushing back the dark hair, fingers threading through the long strands.   
  
 “C’mon, Dawnie, just open your eyes.”  
  
She didn’t get any response, though she hadn’t really been expecting one.  
  
Buffy sighed, getting up to put Connor down in his car seat, fighting tears.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Wesley?”  Rupert’s soft question sounded solely between the three of them.  “What do you mean you should have said something?”  
  
The younger Englishman sighed heavily, avoiding Giles’ questioning gaze.  “I’ve had suspicions about all of this, since before Faith woke me up this morning.  Willow has been conspicuous in her absence.”  He shook his head.  “But I held my tongue, buried my fears and said nothing.“  
  
Giles barely glanced aside, his eyes trained on the tableau before them.  Faith’s voice sounded before he could speak.  “Same here, dude, I just figured no one would believe me at all.”  
  
The sarcasm crept into his voice, chastisement very clear.  “Really, you two, next time don’t worry about what the rest of us will think.  Just say it.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“I’ll remember that.”  
  
“Provided neither of you ever says ‘I told you so’.”  
  
Faith and Wesley shared a look around Giles, neither one of them smiling.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
It took him more than a few moments to recognize the beast they were all trailing behind.  Jenner stopped in his tracks, staring blindly ahead.  “Hawkins, how’s your mythology?”  
  
“Depends.  We talking Greeks and Romans or something else?”  He stopped when his sire did, waiting for whatever would come next.  
  
“Something else.  Celts, to be specific.”  Hawkins swung round to face the other vampire, surprise on his face.    
  
“You’re asking about . . . why?”  
  
Jenner shook off his thoughts.  “Did you see the hound?”  
  
It was as if a light switched on in Hawkins’ head.  “Cwn Annwn.”  _How dense am I?_   “What are they doing here in California?”  
  
“Haven’t a clue.  Though I’m thinking it might have something to do with what’s going on with Spike and Angelus.”  Jenner started walking again, his attention focused once more on the Slayer he was following.  “Glynnis.”  
  
A dark-haired female emerged from the shadows behind the two and Jenner smiled despite his slight aggravation.  He’d expected at least three of his people to disobey him and stay at his side, it was nice to know his expectations had been met.  And Glynnis could be counted on to always be near Hawkins.    
  
Her voice was husky – the kind of huskiness that set men to thinking dangerous thoughts.  “Yes?”  
  
“Need you to find out what’s been going on with Angelus, what’s happened to him in the last couple of years.”  He paused, thinking for a moment, then continued, “You have until daybreak.”  
  
“I’ll have it sooner.”    
  
With a last look at Hawkins, Glynnis slid back into the shadows.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Charles Gunn had seen a lot of things in his life, things most normal people missed.  Growing up on the streets of Los Angeles, shit just happened.  But this was the first time he could ever remember so many people just watching two girls or ever seen such big damn dogs.  
  
Shooting a look at his companion, Gunn shrugged, muttering under his breath about weirdness.  Shielding Fred with his bulk, Gunn led her to where Wesley stood with Faith and some old guy, their attention on the strange scene being played out across the street.  
  
“Yo, English.  Whassup with this shit?”  Obviously Gunn’s presence caught the other man by surprise, because he turned startled eyes toward the two newcomers.  
  
“Gunn?!  Good lord.  What are . . .”   Wesley stared at him for a moment, then shook off his momentary shock.  “How did you get here?”  
  
“Sorry it took so long.  Had trouble with the wheels.”   
  
Wesley waved off his apology, about to say something else when a low rolling growl echoed in the night and Wesley whipped round to see what had caused it.  
  
Charles followed his movement, his dark eyes widening at the sight of the huge dogs circling a pair of arguing girls.  
  
One of the girls pulled away from the other, almost stumbling in her haste to get away.  
  
A voice sounded, calling out, “Glinda” and then the hounds growled as one, the biggest moving toward the smaller of the two girls, jaws open, baying for blood.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
He was close enough now to hear their words, Willow pleading with her former lover while Tara rejected her, spelling out all Willow’s sins.  
  
The raw emotion of Tara’s heart breaking for the second time was clear, even from half a block away.  
  
Spike ran, putting on a burst of speed, hoping he could get close enough to shield the blond from whatever nasty Red was planning.  He stopped short, though, when the hound he’d been following rounded on him, snapping its jaws, cutting off his route to rescue.  
  
“Nice pooch, calm down.”  He slowed to a walk, edging closer and closer, willing to risk getting torn apart to save Tara.  “C’mon, you mangy cur, lemme save the girl.”  Spike realized it was futile, but he wasn’t going to allow another one of his girls to get hurt.  He’d had more than enough of that over the past couple of days.  
  
He could see Rupert, Faith, Wesley, and two others watching warily, and he noted with a grim smile Giles inching forward every few seconds.  He sensed Lawson getting closer and another pair of vampires hovering just out of sight.  Ignoring them all, Spike chanced another set of steps closer.  The hounds, six strong now, growled as one and he froze, feeling the air draw in around him.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“I can’t believe you, Willow.  What on earth were you thinking?”  Tara’s face was contorted, a cross between anger and disgust, her blue eyes filled with unshed tears.  
  
“I did it for us, you and me.  So we could be happy again – the way things are supposed to be.”  There was no anger in Willow’s voice, just confused pleading, though it was the lack of remorse or understanding within her eyes that set Tara off.  
  
“For us?  There isn’t – there hasn’t been an **_us_** in a while.  So what is this really about?  Control?”  She took another step back, away from Willow and unknowingly toward Spike.  
  
“Control?  No, baby, I did it all to get you back, so we could be happy again.  The way we were before.”  
  
“Before what?  Before you decided to play with everyone?  Before you decided we should all live life according to Willow’s rules?”  Tara’s anger was gaining ground over her hurt and even Faith could tell the taller girl was losing her patience.  “How things go – who lives or dies – is not your decision, Willow.  You can’t just decide to bring Buffy back from the dead, pulling her from heaven or fix other things you don’t agree with.  It's not your decision, Willow.”  
  
“But I can make things better!  Fix everything!”  Willow reached for her again and Tara flinched away.  
  
“Nothing would have needed fixing if you had left it alone in the first place.”  Tara shook her head.  “You can’t keep ruining things and then trying to fix them.”  
  
Willow grabbed a hold of Tara, intent on trying to make her see, make her understand, when the alpha hound growled.  The sound was nearly inaudible to most of the humans, yet it was a signal to the rest of the hounds.  
  
They circled round the two girls, standing between them and the others, facing Willow.  The alpha growled again, and the air froze, everyone waiting for what would happen next.  Tara was close enough to see something flare darkly in Willow’s eyes, writhing and sparking with power.  She wrenched her arm out of Willow’s grip, stumbling away.          
          
Willow raised a hand, murmuring something under her breath, something the others were too far away to hear or understand.  Fear flashed in Tara’s eyes, the hounds moving closer, edging toward Willow.  The air glittered with unfocused magics, the hounds bayed, Spike’s voice echoed down the street and Willow was gone.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
         



	51. False face must hide

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter 51.  False face must hide  
  
  
Away, and mock the time with fairest show;  
False face must hide what the false heart doth know.   
     Macbeth, act I, sc. vii   
  
Seeing my malevolent face in the mirror,   
my benevolent soul shrinks back.   
    Mason Cooley, City Aphorisms, Second Selection  
  
Love once  
Tipped the scales but now is shadowed, invisible,  
Though mysteriously present, around somewhere.   
    John Ashbery, Self–Portrait in a Convex Mirror.  
  
But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts  
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun;  
Himself is his own dungeon.   
    John Milton, Comus, l.**_  
  
  
  
  
There was no sound.    
  
The air deflated around her.  There was nothing to breathe.  No sight, no sound.  Her vision wavered, and her balance faltered.  Stepping back, away from what her eyes refused to believe, what her heart already knew, Tara lost her footing and fell, landing hard on her butt.  Great gulping sobs broke from her throat and she couldn’t draw in enough air.   
  
Her knees drew up, and Tara curled in on herself, shutting out the last sigh of Willow, eyes alight with a strange mix of confusion and anger, fraught with an edge she’d never seen before in her ex-girlfriend.  
  
She was unaware of the chaos around her, the hounds furiously bayed, circling around her, their prey disappearing into the ether before they could retrieve her. Giles, Faith, and Wesley were struggling through the hounds blocking her, and the vampires gathered, curiosity overriding their reluctance to stand apart.  Spike was battling aside the hounds more effectively than the others in his effort to reach her.  Tara was unaware of it all.  Uncaring of it all.    
  
Her heart, that fragile organ she’d entrusted to Willow, was broken and truly shattered.    
  
She’d trusted her, loved her. . . And Willow had done the unthinkable yet again.    
  
Willow had destroyed any hope Tara may have had for the other girl to see what she’d done; how she’d damaged her friendships; betrayed everyone’s trust and completely obliterated any tender emotions Tara may have held for her.  Any left over, residual love was gone.    
  
Tara rocked back and forth, unable to do anything more than weep, hiding her face against her knees.  She fought when strong hands wrapped around her arms, attempting to lift her to her feet, wanting nothing more than to hide from the accusing faces of those around her.  
  
Batting away the hands, Tara pushed them away, only collapsing when she smelled the familiar scent of leather and tobacco that was Spike.    
  
“C’mon, Glinda, it’s all right, I’m here.   I’ve got you.”  His voice was comforting, his presence a shield against the truth and Tara calmed, resting against his chest.  “I’ve got you.  ‘S gonna be all right.”  
  
She couldn’t talk, any words caught in the wealth of tears clogging her throat, the reality of what had just happened overwhelming her.  
  
“Spike? Is she injured?”  Giles’ voice was full of concern, without any recriminations.    
  
“Dunno, Rupes.   Can’t get her to relax.”  He moved her a little way, holding her so he could check for injuries and bleeding.  “Pidge?  You all right?”  
  
Tara shook her head, finally looking up to gaze into Spike’s eyes.  His blue eyes were flooded with concern and worry, devoid of anger or blame.  “Not your fault at all, Glinda.  Red’s completely off the rails.  No one blames you for any of this.”  
  
As always, whenever faced with a situation she was emotionally tied too, the stutter that had been her downfall surfaced.  She tried, she did, but no words would come, and it took Spike a moment before he understood her dilemma.  “Hush, now.  No worries.  We’ll suss it all out later, yeah?”  
  
Her head against his shoulder, Tara dared a look around her.  The hounds were milling around, guarding her from the living, blocking Giles and the others from getting to her.  The biggest of the hounds, a huge black and red brindled male, kept scenting the air and pacing about, seeking a trail.  The hound sniffed at her, and she tried not to flinch away, but the beast was nearly shoulder high, and not the cuddly sort.  Spike caught her closer, rumbling low in his chest, both as warning and permission.  “Relax, pet.  He’s just wanting to scent out Red.  ‘ve a feeling that’s who they’re after.”  
  
Almost as if he understood, the brindled male emitted a soft bark, gaining the attention of the other hounds.  There were answering barks and yips from the others, and with a final sniff of Tara’s skirts, the alpha shot away, the others racing behind him.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy stared at the tray the orderly was setting up on the moveable table.  There was enough food on it to feed three people.  Maureen Osbourne had come through in a big way for her.  There was a chocolate milkshake, carrots, soup that smelled suspiciously like beef barley, a ham and cheese sandwich, a salad, some crackers and pretzels in a bag, and complete meatloaf dinner, including mashed potatoes.  There was no way she was going to be able to eat all of that, at least not all at once.  Picking at the meatloaf and other hot stuff, Buffy kept her eyes on the monitors beside Dawn, looking for any changes.  
  
The teenager had settled down, her breathing relaxing into the deepness of real sleep, and the doctors  had said it was possible she might be able to go home sometime the next day, depending on her responses to the psychiatric questions they had for her.  Buffy could only imagine what the doctors would be throwing at Dawn, come the morning, though she was hoping Dawn would be able to give them answers.  Part of her understood why Dawn had sought a way out, an end to the whole pain and heartbreak and just let go.  There were plenty of times she’d felt the same – when Glory had Dawn, Buffy had almost shut down and given up.  Without Willow’s intervention, she would have done just that and let Glory win.  In the end, the bitch had won anyway.  Glory had taken more from the Summers than anyone, destroyed them as a family; in more than just the obvious ways.  
  
It was Glory’s words, her belief the Key was used for destruction, that set Dawn on this path.  The hell god had told her, more than once, the Key was evil, was bad, was wrong.  And she’d been so far from the truth.  True, they still didn’t know everything the Key was capable of doing; though it didn’t matter.  What mattered was Dawn herself, she was an innocent.  The monk had told Buffy so, just before he died and she believed it.  Might have taken her a while to truly believe it, but she did.  Dawn hadn’t asked for any of what had happened, just like any baby brought into a situation – just like Connor.  
  
He and Dawn were innocent of any sins.    
  
Buffy swung her gaze around to the baby, who was still sleeping in the car seat.  He was so adorably scrunched, a light blanket wrapped around him and as she watched, he shifted, obviously trying to get comfortable.  Giving in to the sudden urge, Buffy lifted him from the car seat and brought him back over to the gurney.  There was more than enough room, and maybe Dawn would understand what she was trying to do, the message she was sending her.  That is, if she woke up before Connor had to be moved again.  Dawn was laying on her side, facing her, and Buffy put the baby down, lifting the safety side so he couldn’t wriggle out.    
  
They settled in together, the baby stretching out, while Dawn almost automatically wrapped her arm around the boy.    
  
A smile crossed Buffy’s features and she dropped a soft kiss on both their heads, a silent prayer in her heart.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _How the heck did she find out?  How did . . .  what were those huge dogs?  What the heck is going on?  
  
I can’t believe she knew . . .  how did she find out?_  
  
Willow was pacing the confines of her bedroom, fingers clasped together in front of her mouth, eyes narrowed and focused.  She’d been completely taken aback when Tara’s entire demeanor had changed.  Her former girlfriend had jerked away from her, in the middle of a kiss, and . . .   Willow was at a loss.   
  
She knew the spell had been broken, just by the look on Tara’s face.    
  
 _What broke the spell?  How did it break?  
  
How?_  
  
Her nerves were jumping, her mind whirling from one thing to another.  Tara, the spell, the dogs. _What were those dogs doing guarding Tara? And what were they?  
  
How am I gonna fix this. . . How can I make this better?  How. . .   
  
What else is going on?  _  
  
She went back over the last few minutes, her mind trying to focus on exactly what had happened.  They were fine, spending the day together, moment by moment, falling back in love. . . and then, when Tara leaned in to kiss her, everything fell apart.  Willow saw the moment in her mind, realizing there were others arriving while she and Tara were arguing.  
  
Giles, flanked by Wesley and Faith . . .  w _ait a second.  Faith?  What the heck is Faith doing back in Sunnydale, what is she doing out of jail?_  
  
Willow wracked her brain, trying to figure out why Wesley and Faith would be in Sunnydale.  What had happened since she stopped living at Buffy’s house that would bring Wesley from Los Angeles and Faith from jail?  Los Angeles. . . _Oh holy Hecate.   Angel.  
  
Angel’s soul is gone.    
  
That’s how I’m gonna fix this.  _  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The scene played out before him and Hawkins, and Jenner couldn’t begin to fathom what on earth was going on.  The Slayer, surrounded by her people, was unable to reach the two girls because of the dogs.  Spike was the only one able to break through, and he reached the blond one too late.    
  
“Where the fuck is Glynnis?”  He growled out, his eyes following the Slayers every move.  
  
Hawkins looked at him, amused disbelief on his features.  “She’s only been gone ten minutes.  Do you really think she’s got something already?”  
  
Jenner watched while Faith ignored Spike, her attention on the older man, the one he figured to be the Watcher, more questions filling his head.  
  
“If you were mated, wouldn’t you be paying more attention to your mate?”  He was musing out loud, uncaring that Hawkins was listening.  
  
“Yeah.  I would.  But I’m not mated.”  Following Jenner’s train of thought, he asked, “What makes you think he’s claimed the Slayer?”  
  
“Would you look at her?  Why wouldn’t he claim her?  He’d be a fool not to, and if I know anything about Spike, it’s that he’s no fool.”  He took an involuntary step forward, when Faith turned to say something to Spike, relaxing when she didn’t move any closer to the other vampire.  
  
Trying to figure out what had his sire so worked up, Hawkins stared at the Slayer, his eyes traveling over her body.  “She is a pretty one.”  
  
Jenner was silent, and Hawkins was caught by surprise when he started moving away, toward the group.  “Sire?”  
  
Faith had turned away from the group, her eyes focused on where they were standing.  She took a few steps toward them, and Jenner moved on silent feet, their bodies drawn to each other.  
  
They halted, about ten feet between them, neither one’s attention wavering.    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
There had only been six of them, so it shouldn’t have been so noticeable when they disappeared.  And yet it was.  The hounds were gone and Spike found himself shielding Tara from the suddenly overzealously concerned Watchers.  She was wrapped up, hiding her face away from them, tears falling hard against his chest.  
  
He growled something unintelligible, warning Giles away, then lifted his head when his senses picked up the traces of the other vampires.  Off to his left, Spike caught a glimpse of Faith breaking away from the group, moving toward something he couldn’t see through the tangle of Tara’s hair.  
  
He watched, while she moved away, trying to follow her line of sight.  Taking Tara and moving her away, closer to Giles, Spike saw what had caught Faith’s attention.  
 _  
What the fuck?  What the bloody fucking hell is **he** doing in Sunnyhell?_  Spike followed after Faith, completely ignoring Giles’ spluttering questions.  
  
Watching the strange goings-on, Lawson skirted around the humans, ghosting toward Spike.   
  
Faith’s voice broke through the sudden silence, asking one of the questions Spike had.  
  
“Why are you still here?”  
  
Jenner took long minutes to speak, almost as if he wasn’t sure what his answer would be.  “Curiosity.”  
  
“That’s a helluva an answer.  You know, though, curiosity killed the cat.”  
  
“True, but satisfaction brought him back.”  He paused, then shrugged.  “We could trade quips all night, but I think your vampire would have a problem with that.”  
  
“My vamp?”  Faith looked around, wondering what the hell he was talking about.  “I don’t have a pet vamp.  That’s B’s specialty.”  
  
“Whose?”  Jenner was intrigued by her answer.  
  
“Buffy.  The Vampire Slayer.”  
  
Jenner shook his head.  “You’re the Slayer.”  
  
“Dude, there’s a glitch in the Matrix.  There’s actually two of us.”  
  
“Never happened.”  
  
“Tell that to the Powers, coz, the fact is, there’s two of us.  She was here first.  I’m just the back-up plan.”  
  
Spike shifted, his movement garnering their combined attention.  Feeling the need to say something, Spike unintentionally reinforced Faith’s claim.  “Two Chosen Ones, as it is.”    
  
He then barked out, “What the bleeding fuck are you doin’ here?”  
  
“Heard some interesting news.  Figured I’d come and see what the fuss was all about.”  
  
Spike shook his head. He couldn’t believe the Aurelius line had come out in response to Angel’s summons.  He was muttering under his breath, imprecations the others couldn’t hear, when Faith interrupted him.  “You two know each other?”  
  
A reluctant chorus of yes was her answer and Faith swung her gaze from one vampire to another.  “You’re family?”  
  
“Of a sorts.”  Was all the response she got from Spike.  
  
Jenner volunteered, “Angelus and I have the same Sire.”  
  
Her gaze flickered from one vampire to the other, and a flirtatious grin broke out on her face.  “Well someone in the family had good taste.”  
  
It took Spike a moment, then his chuckle broke through the night air, joined by Jenner’s a moment later.    
  
“So there are two Slayers?  How did that happen?”    
  
Just as Faith was about to launch into a brief explanation, Giles’ voice disrupted her train of thought.  “We need to get Tara indoors.”  He motioned toward the house, but Spike’s emphatic denial cut him off.  
  
Making a split second decision, Spike pulled Faith aside.  “Listen pet, need to keep everyone safe in one spot.  ‘Ve a feeling Angel’s gonna strike soon.  An’ got my own to watch over, can’t leave them alone, even with Buffy there.”  Thinking once more, Spike turned his head away for a second.  “Watcher?”  
  
Both Giles and Wesley strode over to where the two were standing, concern etched on their faces.  “Spike?  What’s wrong?”  
  
Addressing his answer to all of them, he said, “Dawn’s back in hospital.  Buffy an’ the sprog are with her now.  They’re not lettin’ the girl go until morning.  You lot are all gonna have to stay in one spot.  Told Faith ‘m thinkin’ the poofter is gonna have a go soon.”  
  
Her hand on his arm, Faith motioned toward the vampires and the others standing in a loose circle around them.  “What do we do about this situation?”  
  
Sharing a look with Giles the others couldn’t read, Spike said, “Gonna take a leap of faith here.  No pun intended.  You lot head to the Magic Box, an’ I’m gonna get supplies from the house.”  
  
“Do you think that’s wise?”  Giles inclined his head, eyes on the other vampires.    
  
“Got no other resources.  ‘M not leaving Buffy alone.  An’ that’s why I want you all at the shop.  This way, they’re not camped out in front of the house.”    
  
“There’s too much stuff for you to get on your own in one trip.  We’ll get it, this way you can head back to hospital.”  Wesley paused after indicating himself and Faith.  “Is Dawn going to be okay?”  
  
“Dunno, Oxford.  She’s in bad shape.”  He wasn’t going to say anymore about it, not until they were sure she was going to pull through.  “Just got a feelin’.  The poofter’s been too quiet since we rescued the cheerleader, it’s been a week or so. . . an’ I’m just worried.”  
  
Indicating the dark-haired vampire behind him, Spike said, “Gonna send Lawson back to spy on the git.  Jenner an’ his people can stand guard over the shop.”  
  
“Are you sure about that?”  
  
“Is that the best course of action?”  
  
The two Englishmen spoke almost simultaneously, mutual looks of concern on their faces.    
  
“Told you, got no choice.  ‘Sides, ‘m thinking, Rogue here can handle Jenner.”  
  
There was a spark in his eyes Giles immediately caught, though it took Wesley an additional moment or two.  And predictably, Giles reacted by taking off his glasses and peering at Spike intently.  
  
“Are you absolutely certain of this?  This is not exactly what . . .” He followed the turn of Spike’s head, his eyes seeing  Faith’s expression and then glancing up to see the big vampire watching her like a hawk.  “Oh, bloody hell.”    
  
If not for the amused twinkle in Spike’s eyes, Giles would have gritted his teeth at the smirk gracing his almost son-in-law’s lips.  Mentally throwing up his hands at the thought of another slayer/vampire pairing, Giles kept his silence and let Spike continue without further interruption.  
  
“Rogue?  Is that what you’re calling me?”  Faith finally registered what Spike had been saying and sent him a scathing look.  
  
“Fits, doesn’t it?”  He ignored her sputtered comments, talking over her.  “Listen.  If you think you can get to the house an’ get whatever you need, do it.  Jus’ don’t be stupid an’ don’t go alone.”  
  
None of them had anything to say, and when he was finished, Spike turned away to go talk to Jenner.  
 _  
This isn’t gonna be an easy sell, mate._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Fatigue was pulling at her.  Moving took too much effort.  Thinking about moving took too much effort.  Voices sounded around her, words she couldn’t comprehend, didn’t recognize.  Strange noises caught her attention.  
  
A hand kept hold of hers, stroking her skin.  Muscles twitched and jumped, and her head was foggy.  She floated inside the pain, letting it wash over her, not responding when an unknown voice called her name.  
  
“Cordelia?  Miss Chase, can you open your eyes?”  
  
She tried.  The effort proved too much and her eyelids fluttered weakly.  
  
Xander’s soft voice called her name and she shifted her head, angling toward him.    
  
“Keep talking, Mr. Harris, see if you can get her to respond.”  
  
“C’mon, Cordy, open your eyes for the doc.”  
  
Her eyelids fluttered again, this time a stronger try, a slight movement, but still they opened barely.  
  
“Good, Miss Chase.  Very good.”  
  
There was quiet again, and just before she slipped into oblivion, she heard the doctor say, “Thank you, Mr. Harris.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Oz walked into the house, surprised to find it empty.  His acute sense of smell told him no one had been home for hours, though that knowledge didn’t stop him from searching the house from top to bottom.  
  
The only evidence of something wrong was in the upstairs hallway bathroom.  The metallic scent of old blood was in the air, and further inspection revealed congealed blood pooled in the drain of the tub.  Oz dropped to his knees, trying to scent it better, drawing back when he couldn’t place its origins.  _Not all human. . . not a whole lot of demon either. . .  
  
Could be anyone. . . Buffy, Dawn, the baby. . .   _  
  
He shook his head, trying to clear his senses.  Nothing was making any sense at all.    
 _  
This isn’t good._  
  
He was on his feet, back out in the hallway before the front door was fully opened.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike paused, digging around in his duster for a pack of cigarettes – instead he came up with a pacifier and a grocery list.  Amused disbelief filled his head and with a shake, he stuck them back in, finding the cigarettes in an inside pocket.  He lit one, trying to come up with some angle to placate, and reel in, Jenner.  Not to worried about Lawson, Spike focused his considerable mind on the other master vampire.  
  
Flicking open his zippo lighter, Spike thought hard.  _Is his attraction to Faith gonna be enough?_ He could see Jenner watching the girl, Hawkins at his back.  _Won’t know until I try.  
_  
“He won’t survive this time.”  His voice was pitched low, barely audible beneath the human voices.

   
“Is that so?”  Jenner gave him the courtesy of looking at him, an enigmatic look on his face.  
  
“Got two Slayers to fight.  Never could face even one.”  The truth, and both knew it, was that the only Slayer Angel had ever fought was still living, though only one knew exactly how the battling had gone.  
  
“He’s not a fledge.”  
  
Spike conceded the point.  “No.  But he’s not one for those kinds of odds either.  If one was betting.”  
  
Jenner faced him squarely, Hawkins on his left.  Lawson had moved closer, flanking Spike’s right and Spike was struck with the funny image of Jets and Sharks about to break out into a belligerent song and dance number.  
  
“He’s also got me to deal with.”  He’d be damned all over again if he gave Jenner all of his secrets, but this was something he wasn’t hiding.  “Git came after one of mine.”  
  
Faith had left the others, while they got Tara safely into Gunn’s car, coming to stand on Spike’s other side.  Jenner’s eyes shifted, raking over her, then focused back on Spike.  
  
“Need to know if I’m facin’ a battle on two fronts.  So again, I ask, why’re you here?”  
  
Jenner drew in a deep breath, more aware of the girl than he’d ever been of anyone, including his sire – and surprised no one more than himself.  “No.”  
  
“Just like that?  No?”  Her voice was husky, her dark eyes fixed on his features.  
  
The two master vampires faced each other, understanding slowly dawning.  “Just like that.  Won’t stand in your way.  Thought there was more to this than just . . .  A dispute over territory.”  Jenner shrugged imperceptibly.  “Don’t have all the facts either.”  
  
Spike nodded his acceptance of Jenner’s neutrality, then took a gamble he might be willing to hear his side of things.    But not just now.  
  
“Need a favor.  Gimme twenty-four hours, an’ I’ll meet with you, give you all the answers you need.”  
  
The sound of the truck pulling away barely disturbed them – none of the vampires caring about the humans, intent as they were on the matter before them.  “Why the delay?”  
  
“Got things to see to.”  
  
Jenner thought about it for a moment, knowing he would need the time to get information from Glynnis.  “Done.”  
  
“Good.  Tomorrow night.  Ten.  In the Magic Shop.”  
  
Turning on his heel, Spike stalked off, knowing Faith and Lawson wouldn’t be far behind.  
  
That Jenner would be moving in his wake shortly didn’t bother him either.  He’d gotten the time he needed.


	52. End of happiness

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 52.  End of happiness  
  
It is an unfortunate fact that we can   
secure peace only by preparing for war.   
    John Fitzgerald Kennedy, September 6, 1960   
  
The best strategy in life is diligence.   
    Chinese proverb.  
  
It is a curious sensation:   
the sort of pain that goes   
mercifully beyond our powers of feeling.   
When your heart is broken,   
your boats are burned:   
nothing matters any more.   
It is the end of happiness   
and the beginning of peace.   
    George Bernard Shaw, Ellie, in Heartbreak House, act 2.  
  
As an egg, when broken, never  
Can be mended, but must ever  
Be the same crushed egg for ever  
—So shall this dark heart of mine!   
    Thomas Holley Chivers, To Allegra Florence in Heaven.  
_**  
  
  
  
Giles studiously ignored it when Faith left his side to approach the spot where Spike was conversing with the other vampires.  Herding Tara toward the monstrous vehicle Wesley indicated, Giles forced himself to keep his eyes, and his ears, averted.  
  
He wanted to not know what Spike’s smirk had implied regarding Faith and one of the other vampires, though knew that wish was futile.    
  
Once they were all inside, the driver, obviously one of Wesley’s co-workers, turned around to face them.  “Where to, English?”  
  
Sharing a look with Wesley, Giles said, “Make a left at the next corner.”  
  
Might be easier to have all of them at the Magic Shop, but Giles wasn’t going to be sleeping on anyone’s cement floor.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Blondie.  Hold up a minute.”  Faith grabbed Spike’s arm, pulling him to a stop.  “What the hell was that all about?”  
  
His agitation was growing the longer he was apart from Buffy, worry about Dawn filling his head and Faith stopping him put a sharp edge on his temper.  “Look.  Got lots . . .”   He paused visibly, trying to get his temper under control.  “Listen, coz, ‘m only sayin’ this once.  Dawn’s back in hospital, in a bad way.  Docs won’t let her go until at least mornin’.”  
  
“How bad is it?”  
  
“Bad enough.”  Testing the waters, Spike sent a thought through the claim, and when his answer came back, he changed the subject.  “It’s safer for everyone to be at the shop.  Safer for me come daybreak.  Can still get there through the tunnels.  Jenner’s not stupid, he’s gonna have people watchin’ you – if he’s not doin’ it himself.  ‘d feel better knowin’ he’s not camped outside m’house.”  
  
“Your house?”  
  
“Yeah, Rogue.  My house.”  Inhaling deeply, he continued.  “It’s up to you to keep the rest of them safe.  Least until we can help.  Angelus isn’t gonna sit around much longer.  Been waiting nearly two months as it is.  An’ Red’s completely round the bend.”  
  
Thinking for a minute, Spike shifted his attention to the other vampire.  “Lawson. Think you can spy on the git?”  
  
“Yeah, chief, I’ve still got a room in the mansion.”  Unsure of where Spike was going with this, Lawson waited patiently.  
  
“Good.  Do that.  Meet me at hospital at sundown.”  Turning to Faith he said, “Stay at the shop with the others tonight.  Two of us’ll be there soon as we can in the mornin’.”  
  
Faith started to argue, however the look on Spike’s face changed her mind.  With a swish of her hips and a look around, she stalked off in the direction of the shop.  
  
“Keep him away from Red.”  Spike walked away, but Lawson’s question stopped him in his tracks.  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Willow Rosenberg.  Redheaded witch from earlier.  The one the hounds were circlin’.”  
  
And then he too was gone, leaving Lawson alone in the middle of the street.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
He’d sent Toussaint and Rebecca out, giving them Willow’s address and telling them to grab her the second she so much as poked her head outside a door.  
  
Ray and three others were watching Buffy’s place, while another one was camped outside the apartment of Rupert Giles.    
  
Angel was currently trying to get Drusilla calmed down, which was proving difficult at best.  
  
His night had started out much the same as the others, waking to find the minions waiting for him and his orders.  Before he’d even really had time to rub the sleep from his eyes and shower, Drusilla was shrieking high-pitched warnings, most of them incomprehensible gibberish.  
  
She’d ripped her dress, and his shirt, to tatters, sharp nails scoring the exposed skin.  He’d wrapped his big arms around her, in a futile effort to ward off her claws, only to find himself struggling to fight off her fangs.  
  
“Nasty bitch . . . Bright lights . . . swirly twirly . . .  bad Daddies . . . Goodbye songs for baby girls . . .”  
  
Her fangs grazed his cheek, catching the edge of his chin and he groaned as she rent his skin, drawing the heady scent of his blood to the air.  
  
“Drusilla!”  Roaring his disapproval, Angel freed one hand, slapping her hard, dislodging her teeth.  
  
Hands flailing, she caught him again, clawing open his shoulder.  
  
“Wicked little girls wailing away . . . Rabid dogs circling. . . Howling . . .  Embers burning bright. . . Power pulsing in the night.   All wrong.   All wrong.”  
  
She laughed, the eerie sound ending in an agonized wail of pain as he punched her hard, breaking her jaw’s hold on him.  
  
“Can’t caterwaul now, can you?”  He stood over her crouched form, his eyes staring down at the top of her head.  
  
Drusilla launched herself straight up from the floor, an unearthly keening sound emerging from her gaping mouth, claws at the ready.  The pain he’d inflicted just goaded her, intensifying her rage and confusion.  Her ramblings descended into incoherent sounds, nothing more discernable than a constant, quavering wail.    
  
Angel fought her off, trying to get a hold on her, when suddenly she batted at his head, hard enough to snap it back.  Viper quick, her fangs were lodged in his throat, his blood sliding down, nourishing her and healing the self-inflicted wounds.  
  
Groaning into thin air, Angel’s tight hold on her loosened, his big hands cupping her to him gently.  
  
He dropped down onto the couch behind him, crooning tunelessly to his frantic childe.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Crouched low on the landing, Oz watched the front door swing open, prepared to jump down the steps and attack if it proved necessary.  
  
As it was he was down the stairs before she cleared the threshold, the smell of her tears and distress calling to him.  
  
“Oz?”  Her voice was rich with emotion and he stared at her face, waiting for her to make the first move.  “O. . . Oz?”  
  
Tara crumpled then, moving toward him, her arms encircling him in a tight hug.  Her head rested on his shoulder and he moved her slowly toward the living room, listening to her quiet sobs.  
  
He was aware of others trooping in behind her, but beyond identifying them by smell, Oz ignored them all.  
  
Giles was giving low voiced directions, instructing the two unknowns to get supplies from the kitchen.  He heard footsteps retreating, one set on the stairs, then hesitate and return to the living room.  
  
“She’s  . . .    She was with Willow, apparently, when the spell was broken.  By all indications . . . It seems this was all Willow’s handiwork.”  Giles hesitated more, afraid of both their reactions, knowing both had loved Willow.  
  
By answer, Oz hugged Tara closer, brushed a gentle kiss over her temple, then got to his feet.  Drawing Giles over to the desk, he searched for pen and paper.  Scribbling something down, Oz showed the paper to Giles.  
  
“No.  We weren’t there.  The hounds had been following Willow evidently and one of them led us to where the girls were.  When we got there, they were arguing.”  
  
He peered over Oz’ shoulder watching his questions appear.    
  
“Faith killed it.”  
  
“Yes, I know.  She’s had Slayer dreams alerting her to the situation.  She escaped from jail and arrived here last night.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Without waiting for further information, Giles called out for Wesley and headed directly up the stairs.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Her eyes were closed, the room illuminated only by a soft light emanating from a lamp over the bed where the teenager and the baby were sleeping.  She shifted when the door swung open, tensing a bit, eyes focused blearily on the door.  
  
Buffy started to uncurl herself from the chair, when Spike’s form slipped inside the open door.  
  
“Hey, kitten.”  
  
She was in his arms before he was fully inside the room, her head on his shoulder.  “Everything okay?”  
  
“For now.”  Dropping a kiss on her forehead he walked them toward the gurney.  “How’re they doin’?”  
  
“Baby’s fine.  Dawnie’s still not awake.”  Buffy smoothed the blanket over the sleeping pair.  
  
“No change at all?”  Spike was concerned, thinking perhaps this was going on too long.  
  
“She was moving around earlier, but she’s calmed down a bit now.  The doctor was in here before and he said everything looked good.”  She shrugged.  “Dunno what that means.”  
  
The fatigue she was feeling reached him and Spike shifted his focus.  “You get any sleep?”  
  
“No.”  
  
There was another bed folded up in the corner and Spike moved toward it, speaking as he did.  “Think you can try now?”  
  
“Tell me what happened and I’ll think about it.”  
  
Shaking his head, Spike made his counter offer.  “How ‘bout you get all comfy like an’ then ‘ll tell you.”  
  
They faced each other across the room, both faces resolute.  She really hated when he got concerned and caring.  It was very hard for her to accept that from anyone, even him.  “Spike, I’m strong.  I can stay up a bit longer.”  
  
“That you are, love, but alls ‘m asking is you listen while you’re laying down.”  
  
“I wanna be wide awake for this.”  Buffy’s back stiffened and her arms folded over her chest.  
  
“Kitten.  It’s been a rough couple of days . . . an’ that baby is drainin’ you too.”  He motioned toward the unfolded bed.  “C’mon sweets, I wanna hold you for a bit anyway.”  
  
His look was full of sincere concern, and she caved, unable to resist.  He was the only one she wasn’t able to fight off, especially when he had _that_ look on his face.  Addressing the room at large, Buffy exclaimed, “How am I supposed to resist that?  How?“  
  
His grin morphed into a leer, the twinkle in his eyes sending a shiver up her spine that owed everything to his mere presence.  Buffy met his grin and with a small shake of her head, she indicated for him to settle on the spare bed.  Making a big production of taking off his duster, shaking it out and grabbing a set of extra pillows from the cabinet, Spike sunk down on the small bed, his arms reaching for her.  Buffy moved in, kicking off her sneakers without bothering to untie them.  They were cramped for space, the bed being no bigger than a gurney, and there were a few moments while they adjusted themselves and got comfortable, but they managed.  
  
Fairly soon they were wrapped around each other.  Spike was sitting up against the wall, Buffy within the circle of his arms.  His low voice filled the room, telling her everything that had happened, how Tara had collapsed after Willow’s disappearance.  He told her what he’d asked Lawson to do, and then, with a certain amount of glee, he told her about Faith and Jenner.  He kept on talking, even after Buffy’s breathing and heartbeat indicated she’d fallen into sleep.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Taking the stairs two at a time, with Wesley practically at his heels, Giles headed straight for the hallway bathroom.  
  
It was just as Oz described, congealed blood in the drain, medicine cabinet open, first aid kit broken, bandages and a tourniquet on the floor.    
  
“Bloody hell.”  
  
Wesley angled past him, heading for the tub.  On his knees, the younger man reached down and stuck a finger in the mess, bringing it to his nose.   “Smells human.”  
  
A dread began seeping into his heart – Spike had said Dawn was back in hospital – though he’d never said why.  Reaching for his cell phone, Giles punched in the number for the hospital.  With a wary eye on his counterpart, Giles motioned him to silence.  
  
“My name is Rupert Giles.  I’m inquiring about a possible patient, Dawn Summers.”  
  
There was a pause, then, “Yes.”  
  
“Er. . . Right.”  Giles wracked his brain while he waited to be connected to the proper department.  He went through the information again, once the connection was complete, his mind racing.  Wesley had gotten to his feet, eyes locked on Giles’ face.  The former Watcher knew a second after Giles had gotten his confirmation.  The older man flipped closed his phone, grim features giving weight to his words.  
  
“She is there.  She’s going to be moved as soon as a room becomes available.”  
  
“Did they say why they want to admit her?”  Wesley’s voice was full of concern.  
  
“No.  They can’t give that kind of information over the phone.”  
  
“Will you go?”  Wesley was staring down at the tub, his expression hidden from the older man.    
  
“Perhaps later.  Right now I think Spike’s right and we should get everyone over to the Magic Box.”  
  
“Right.  I’ll clean up in here.”  Wesley turned on the taps, searching for cleaning supplies.  
  
Not giving any further thought to Wesley’s reaction, Giles headed for the hall closet.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Anya was just locking the door, preparing to unfurl the roll-down gates, when the ringing of the telephone startled her.  Stifling an eep of surprise, she hurried to answer before the machine picked up.  
  
“Thank you for calling the Magic Box, foremost supplier of magical and occult supplies on the West Coast.  How may I help you?”  The words came out in a rush, with hardly time for a breath between and no time at all for the caller to interrupt.  
  
“Anya, it’s Giles.”  
  
“You killed that demon.”  
  
“Technically Faith did.”  
  
“You know what I mean.”  
  
“I do.”  There was a pause, and Giles fought the urge to banter with her.  “Don’t leave the shop.  We’re on our way back.  Do you . . . Is there anything you need from your flat?”  
  
“Why?  What’s going on?”  Her voice started to rise and Anya began to speak again when Rupert cut her off.  
  
“Anya.  There’s too much to go over, suffice to say we’re all staying in the shop tonight.”  
  
It took her a moment to digest that, though once she had, Anya didn’t waste any time issuing her instructions.  “There’s only a couple of things in the small refrigerator so we’ll need something to eat.  I have some clothes in the cellar, near Tara’s room, in a box marked with my name.”  She paused again for another breath. “Don’t forget the air mattresses and blankets.  Too bad we don’t have a shower here, but I suppose we’ll be able to go home at first light?”  
  
“More than likely.”  
  
“All right then.  I’ll lock up until you get here.”  
  
“Very good.”  Rupert paused, then said very softly, “Do be careful.”  
  
She smiled, responding to his tone of voice.  “Don’t get killed.”  
  
An unwilling laugh gurgled out of him and Giles barely managed to gasp out a goodbye before the line was disconnected.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Faith thought about ignoring Spike’s request, just because she wasn’t happy with taking orders from someone else, but halfway to the Bronze she stopped.  _What the hell am I doing this again for?  Tried this shit already and it got me nowhere but jail.  Don’t’ really wanna be making these same damn mistakes over and over again._  
  
Huffing out a deep sigh, Faith longingly eyed the streets leading to the Bronze.  _Still got a job to do.  So. . ._  
  
Shaking herself, she changed direction, heading for the Shady Rest cemetery, and, eventually, the Magic Box.  
  
She’d only gone a half dozen feet when a shiver of awareness shot through her, chasing itself up and down her spine.  Without looking around, her eyes on the street ahead of her, Faith said, “Might as well come out.  I can feel you, so it’s not like you’re gonna surprise me or anything.”  
  
“Perhaps I just like watching you.”  Wry amusement colored his words and Faith retorted with an inelegant snort.    
  
“Sure you do.”  
  
“Oh, but I do, Slayer.”  
  
There wasn’t any amusement lacing his last words and the shiver of awareness shot higher.  
  
Faith turned around, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but nowhere in the darkness could she find his figure.  
  
Jenner watched her scanning about for him, feral hunger weighed heavily with lust clear on his countenance.  The rich musky scent of her sang to his senses, his body wanting hers with a ferocity he hadn’t felt in years.  
  
Hawkins shifted next to him, warily eyeing his sire’s reactions to the Slayer.  
  
“You wanna watch me so badly, come on outta the shadows.”  
  
A low dark chuckle filled the night air and Jenner threw his head back, allowing the laughter to consume him.  
  
“When you’re ready Slayer, I’ll step out of the darkness.  Until then, I’ll watch from where I am.”  
  
He moved away then, the only signal to Hawkins a tug on the arm.  
  
Before Faith realized it, both vampires had slunk back, out of her sensory range.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
He shifted, listening to the noises of the hospital settle down, his senses focusing on the occupants of the room.  Spike brushed a lock of hair away from Buffy’s face, his touch barely ghosting over her skin.  
  
Lines of stress and fatigue bracketed her mouth, a tiny line creasing her brow.  She’d been asleep for just about an hour, and still she wasn’t relaxed.  Maybe, when this situation was behind them, they could talk Faith into sticking around for a little while – just until the baby was born.  Anything to give them a break.  
  
Connor moved, shifting against Dawn, and Spike watched as a little leg slipped between the rails, hanging off the edge of the gurney.  
  
He’d never imagined, even in his earlier incarnation, he’d be in this situation.  In the course of a few months, really since Joyce’s untimely passing, his life had undergone enormous sea changes.  Somewhere along the way, he’d gotten his heart’s desire and acquired an instant family.  The Summers girls were a package deal – though at the time they hadn’t understood exactly how much of a package or what kind.  And then to top it off, he was now the surrogate father for Angel’s son.  Not once in his overly long existence would he have ever expected _that_.  
  
The baby shifted again, and Spike glanced over at the clock, realizing the sprog was gearing up to howl for his middle of the night feeding.  Moving Buffy off his shoulder, Spike got to Connor before he could disturb either of the girls.  Digging through the backpack Kirsten had packed earlier, Spike found the formula and bottles.  Shoving the bottle into his back pocket, Spike grabbed baby and formula and left the room in search of a way to heat the bottle.


	53. A siege of waiting

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 53.  A siege of waiting  
  
  
But the bones didn’t try  
The door; they halted helpless on the landing,  
Waiting for things to happen in their favor.   
    Robert Frost, Two Witches   
  
The roots of the grass strain,  
Tighten, the earth is rigid, waits — he is waiting —  
And suddenly, and all at once, the rain!   
    Archibald MacLeish, Memorial Rain  
  
With ruin staring you in the face,   
there is nothing worse to live through   
than a siege of waiting and hoping.   
If you manage to live through it,   
nothing can ever jar your nerves after that.   
    Sue Sanders, Our Common Herd _**  
  
  
  
  
The streets of Sunnydale were quiet, long time residents understanding the darkness wasn’t safe except in large numbers.  One lone figure walked with a purpose through the streets, his form almost disappearing in between the glow of street lights.  The walker wasn’t in ignorance of the dangers, instead the man was more than aware of them, but was unafraid.  He knew there were others following him – he also knew their curiosity outweighed the bloodlust.  Not that it mattered, he was quite willing to engage in some form of physical release.  
  
He kept walking though, because he had more important things to do.  
  
The bright lights of the emergency room entrance bloomed like a neon flower in the darkness and yet Wesley felt no relief.  Somewhere behind those doors were four of the most important people in his world.  Buffy, his former Slayer and possibly the embodiment of his greatest failure; Spike, an anomaly among men, brilliantly intelligent and violently psychotic; Connor, the miracle child born of two vampires; and Dawn.  Wesley shied away from a description of the younger Summers girl, unwilling to delve into the reasons why he was on his way into the hospital at this hour of the morning.  
  
It was too much for him to process.  
  
His emotions, the feelings he was doing his hardest to suppress were the ones that forced him to action.  Spike’s earlier statement “ _Dawn’s back in hospital_ ” had put a chill around his heart that had absolutely nothing to do with the danger surrounding all of them.  
  
Wesley was scared.  Even though he knew she was far too young – and just had her first boyfriend brutally murdered before her eyes – he couldn’t completely fool himself.  
  
So that was why, at three in the morning, Wesley was walking the streets of the Hellmouth.  The need to ensure with his own eyes Dawn’s continued existence was something Wesley refused to admit was anything more than concern for a family member he’d come to. . . _no, it was not love._ It was something else.  
  
Slipping in through the sliding doors was simple, as was gliding past the lax security guard.  With a quick glance at the board denoting patient name and room, Wesley noted the irony of where Dawn was being held.  
  
The door slid open silently and he paused on the threshold, letting his eyes adjust to the semi-darkness.  Dawn’s still form was laid out on the gurney, bathed in the muted light from the overhead lamp.  He could see Buffy on a bed behind her, fast asleep.  Spike and the baby weren’t there, though Wesley had a feeling they’d only been gone a little while – and since one wasn’t going anywhere without the other, he knew they’d be back together.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Wesley stepped into the room.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike was elbow deep in suds and gurgling baby, with a somewhat shocked nurse standing by, towel and dry clothes in hand.  It wasn’t long after he’d put Connor back down with Dawn that the baby had woken up with a wail and a loud explosive fart that emitted an odor caustic to most demons.  Before Spike had a chance to get the boy off the bed he was sharing with Dawn, the muck was seeping through his sleeper, and threatening to make the hospital a toxic waste site that rivaled the ones in three different dimensions.  He’d emerged from the room, holding Connor at arm’s length and deliberately not breathing.  Maureen Osbourne had been making her rounds and came upon the distressed vampire, taken one look at him and laughed so hard Spike had threatened to bite her.  
  
Connor, however, was still softly wailing and getting a bit green around the gills, so instead of convulsing further, Maureen had motioned Spike into the pediatric rooms and gotten him supplies while Spike stripped off the infant’s soiled clothing.    
  
They’d waited a half hour before putting the boy into the soapy water, mainly because he went through another diaper and a sheet before his bowels had finished emptying.  The second Spike noticed the change in his temperature and smell, Connor was dunked into the water.  He was now held tight in his foster-father’s embrace, splashing happily for all he was worth, kicking and beating his arms and feet in the water.    
  
This was not how Spike expected to find himself the night before a fight.  This was not how Spike envisioned _any_ night.  But this was . . . Fighting a grin, Spike looked down into the dark blue eyes of the innocent catalyst for part of the situation and found himself not regretting his existence.  This child was a gift – same as Dawn – same as the new one, and nothing, no deranged master vampire, no off-kilter witch, nor any misguided social worker was going to blame either of those for their current circumstances.  
  
His thoughts echoing Buffy’s earlier, Spike contemplated how he was going to keep the little ones safe . . .  Dawn, if she was up and coherent, would do as she was told, but there remained Connor, who had to be protected.  There weren’t any reserves, no Joyce or someone else they could trust to watch over either  of them, make sure they stayed out of harm’s way.   They had no warriors to spare.  Not even Buffy could sit out this one, much as he would like her too.  The future was too precarious.  They had too many variables – although Jenner stated he would stand down – Spike couldn’t fully trust that he would.  He‘d doubled crossed Jenner too many times for it not to rankle him.  
  
A loud splash and low giggle from the squirming mass brought him out of his heavy thoughts and Spike nearly dropped the boy when Connor smiled and did it again, this time staring right into the vampire’s eyes.  _Oh, you sly little pup . . .   Gonna be a canny one._  
  
Pulling the plug and draining the water, Spike thought about keeping Tara back, letting her be the one to guard Dawn and Connor, though realized that might not be realistic.  She was the only one with enough mojo to keep Red off balance, if they couldn’t convince Giles he was needed for that.  The list of ready warriors was thin – himself, Buffy, Faith, Wesley, and perhaps Oz . . . Giles if he wasn’t using the magics, Tara . . .  not enough against the swarm of Aurelian minions surrounding Angel and Drusilla.  Possibly Lawson – he reflected on the moment the vampire had apologized to Buffy.  Perhaps he could convince him to fight against his sire. It all depended on how deep his sense of loyalty went.  
  
Using the spray nozzle, Spike washed the baby clean of suds, his mind not on his task.  If they went by their usual luck, chances are the two would end up right in the thick of things, without anyone to watch over them.    
  
That was unacceptable.  So he had to think of someone, of some way they could keep both Dawn and Connor safe.  And they needed to do it fast.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Drusilla was finally calming down, her keening cries devolving into whimpers and low murmurs, and a bit of coherency sneaking past her lips.  Angel sat at the foot of the bed, watching as she wriggled and writhed against the restraints he’d put her in earlier.  His big hand stroked up and down her leg, his eyes watching her face closely.    
  
He’d been trying for the better part of the night to get her calm enough to talk, to tell him of her visions and had yet to garner even a modicum of success.  Nothing she spouted made any sense to him at all, and his temper was hanging by threads.    
  
The news from his slowly returning minions wasn’t much better.  
  
None of them had seen Willow – in any of the locations he’d dispatched them to.  The Slayer hadn’t been spotted either, although her people had been seen briefly at the house – neither she nor Spike had been there.  Which puzzled him.  And Angel hated being confused.  He liked things orderly and actions to be logical – nothing going on seemed to follow any logic that he understood.  That he refused to think the random movements of those around him didn’t revolve around what he wanted never crossed his mind.  In his mind, Angel was the only law, the only center.  
  
“Baby strawberries . . .  little blue fishes. . . Angry prince . . . Daddy’s little girls. . . Broken stars. . . Swirly doors . . . broken stars . . .    Daddy isn’t happy. . .”  
  
“Daddy isn’t mad, Dru, he’s not sure what you mean.”  His hand tightened around her thigh, his fingers leaving bruising marks, causing a loud mewl from Drusilla.  
  
“Miss Edith is whispering in my head with the pixies.  They ppsssshhhhh and pitter patter all through me . . .  Into my bloody bits and they won’t leave me alone. . .”  
  
“How can Daddy get Miss Edith to be quiet? “    
  
Drusilla narrowed her eyes, then snarled at him, gnashing her teeth.  “Have to bring the King of Cups.  He’s bound to enjoy the party.”  
  
“There isn’t any party right now, Dru.”  
  
A low hum sounded in the room, and she stared up at the ceiling, writhing against her bonds.  “Parties will be soon. . .”  
  
Angel stared down at her, her last words echoing in his head.  “ _Parties will be soon_.”  
  
A malicious grin sprouted across his features, a plan beginning to take form in his head.  
  
 _Parties will be soon. . ._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Willow looked through the box of supplies, searching for the few things she hadn’t found in another place.  She was still missing three key ingredients, including the focal point – an Orb of Thessulah.  
  
The Magic Box had them in stock, but she dare not try and get into it, not with all the wards Giles had erected.    
  
Unfortunately, the Orb was the one thing she couldn’t substitute – anything else she needed was completely replaceable.  
  
Willow’s hand closed around a circular crystal, knowing just by its resonance it wasn’t the orb she needed.  Muttering softly under her breath, Willow moved toward her computer.  _There has to be some place other than the Magic Box around here that has orbs . . . I could get one as long as I don’t have to go to LA.  
_  
 _Just have to find out where._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She was so still, so motionless, Wesley had a hard time believing she was still breathing on her own.  Dawn wasn’t normally the calm and collected type, almost always in motion, long limbs and dark hair swirling about, her focus never on one thing at a time.  On the cusp of being a woman, Dawn showed more than a bit of promise, because she was already a beautiful teenager.   Someday she was going to be an absolutely gorgeous woman. . .  And she would have some lucky man in the palm of her hand.   He stared down at her, afraid to disturb her rest by touching her and yet almost afraid not to touch.  At the moment she didn’t look like herself at all.  Dark bruises ringed her throat, and her exposed wrist, and one side of her face was swollen and black sutures rested like minuscule spiders on her pale skin.  What Angel had done to her – and Cordelia – was so far from what either one of them deserved.  Wesley clenched his fists, a muscle ticking in his jaw.  None of them had talked about it, at least not since that night months ago when Connor was barely two days old, though he was willing to bet that none of them would sanction re-souling the vampire.  
  
Angel didn’t deserve the consideration.  Or the free-pass he’d likely get once the soul was back in place.  Having a soul didn’t automatically make you a good person.  History was littered with examples of human beings who’d committed atrocities with souls intact.  It was more than apparent, at least to him, Angel’s soul was nothing more than a mystical set of handcuffs for the sadistic, murdering bastard that he truly was.  So when it came time, Wesley would be more than happy to add his opinions to the mix.  
  
A noise in the corridor broke his train of thoughts and Wesley focused instead on the girl in front of him.  He knew it was wrong, sneaking out to see how she was, and what had happened to bring her back into hospital, and yet knowing it was wrong hadn’t stopped him at all.  So here he was, far too old to be feeling like this for a girl her age and . . . _what the hell?_  
  
Dawn had shifted a bit, while he was standing there, her left hand emerging from where it had been laying beneath the blankets.  Wesley stared at the stark white bandage wrapped round her wrist, his mind refusing to acknowledge what his eyes were telling him.  _No . . .  she wouldn’t have.  She couldn’t have . . .  why would she have done that?_  
  
Of its own volition, his hand brushed over her side, his big hand cupping her uninjured cheek.  _Oh, Dawn . . .  this is not good.  
_  
He wasn’t a stupid man, in fact far from it, and he quickly glanced around the room, looking at the heart monitor, he knew what his intuition was telling him was correct.  Spike had deliberately given them ambiguous statements when telling them Dawn was back in hospital.  Imagining what everyone’s reaction would have been, Wesley shuddered, his hand unconsciously tightening around Dawn’s jaw.  She was so vulnerable, so heartbreakingly young and yet, inside her was an entity, an awareness that was eternal.  _Apparently eternity doesn’t grant you invulnerability or a certain amount of shielding from pain._  
  
So intent was Wesley on his thoughts that he didn’t notice Dawn curling into his hand, responding to his touch upon her face.  Her lips fell open, a soft breath escaping from her and her eyelashes fluttered.   Wesley settled into the chair Buffy had left at Dawn’s beside, his hand still resting on her cheek, his head very close to hers.  Pitching his voice very soft and low, he leaned closer, words tumbling from his mouth.  “None of this was directly your fault, you have to know that.  You have to understand . . .  You aren’t what Glory told you, you aren’t evil or bad or wrong in anyway.  _You.  Are.  Innocent.  Innocent._   Dawn, you aren’t responsible for the actions of other people.  Nor are you responsible for their deaths.  It’s not your fault.”  
  
She shifted closer, responding to his voice, the warmth and acceptance in his touch.  “Stop blaming yourself.  Stop hiding behind the guilt you are carrying, because it’s not yours to carry.”  He paused, his thumb brushing gently over her face, gathering his thoughts.  “Dawn, I wish you could see yourself as I see you.  You amaze me sometimes, being able to cope with all this craziness.”  He sighed, coming to a realization he hadn’t wanted to admit, even to himself.  “You are so beautiful, make me forget things, things I have to remember.  You are still so young.”  
  
He choked back the next words, refusing to allow his brain to travel any further down that road.  She was too young, their ages too much to overcome; and his tenuous position within the circle of those living in Sunnydale threatened by his attraction to her.  There was no way he’d ever act on those feelings or allow anything to happen between them, and because of that he had to keep his silence.  Not to mention any move toward her would cause Spike to rip his heart from his chest, restraining chip or not.    
  
Dawn had started the climb toward consciousness when Connor’s wailing cry and noxious odor had assaulted the cocoon of cotton surrounding her.  She’d heard Spike’s quiet exclamation, his hasty retreat from the room and she’d settled back down into slumber, not caring or curious about where he’d gone.  
  
Sleep had smoothed through her, though this time the noises from the heart monitor and the soft respiration from Buffy registered.  Dawn fought against awareness, wanting to remain asleep and numb.  Her brain knew where she was, yet she stubbornly refused to open her eyes, unwilling to face the truth of the last few hours.  
  
Wesley’s presence had been a shock and though she wanted to react, the drugs still coursing through her system wouldn’t release her from their grip.  His words washed over her, his voice low and melodic filling her ears.  It was enough to just listen to him, hear the cadence of his words, the comfort of his English accent giving her something other than her own unclear thoughts to focus on, a lifeline to cling to.  
  
“You have to stay with us, Dawn, because you and Connor are something we need to be reminded of every day.  You are our hope.  Hope what we do won’t be forgotten or that our actions were in vain.  Don’t give in, don’t stop living, no matter how hard it is.”  
  
Her eyes flickered open and she could barely make out his form in the shadows around her bed, until he leaned closer, his face inches from hers.  “I. . . Would miss you horribly, so please, dear girl, don’t do this again.”  
  
His hand brushed over her cheek and he jumped when she brought up hers to touch him.  “Wes?”  
  
Her voice was hoarse, croaking and rasped, damaged from Angelus’ strong grip around her and it brought home to him just how close they’d been to losing her.  
  
“Dawn?”  He moved closer, his breath wafting over her.  “Oh, thank gods.  How do you feel?”  
  
A soft groan emerged from her and a grimace of pain streaked across her features.  “Like shit.”  She shifted, trying to get comfortable and this time there was no mistaking or disguising the effects.  Her breath came in fast pants, and her free hand moved to cover her ribs.  “Ow.   Ow . . .  hurts.”  
  
“Don’t move.”  Wesley smoothed her hair back, idly noting the sweat along her hairline.  “What is it you want?”  
  
“Hurts to . . . to be on my side, I need to move.”  Little gasping breaths sounded in the otherwise quiet room, and she tried to focus again on his face.  
  
Thinking for a moment, Wesley said, “Brace yourself,” then slid his arms around her upper torso, lifting her up.  
  
More sweat broke out, and tears began seeping from her eyes.  “Hurts a lot . . .  _ow_. . .   Wes, put me down.”  
  
He hit the button, raising the top of the bed a little, then gently lowered Dawn again.  
  
“How’s that?”  
  
“Better, I think.”  She paused, wiping away the tears and trying hard to catch her breath without further pain.  “Still hurts though.”  
  
“I imagine that will be the case for some time.”  He stared at her for a few moments, noting her struggle to stay awake and conscious.  “Go back to sleep if you need to.  Don’t worry about me.  I’ll just be over here, keeping an eye out until Spike comes back.”  
  
“Wes?”  She picked at the blanket covering her, unable to meet his eyes. “Did you mean what you said?  Do you really believe all that?”  
  
“That none of this is your fault?  Very much so.”  He leaned over her once again, wiping away the sweat from her brow.  Wesley fought the urge to kiss her there, instead saying, “It is the truth.  You aren’t responsible for any of this.”  
  
Dawn’s eyes had closed at the touch of his hand, letting his voice soothe her.  When it was clear he’d finished talking, she whispered softly, “Thanks.”  
  
 _Any time, dear girl . . ._  
  
Slumping down in the chair, Wesley closed his eyes, his worry for Dawn eased just a little.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Pacing from the door to the loading bay, Spike watched the shadows lengthening all around him.  Buffy and the others were still inside, awaiting the doctor’s release.  They’d just spent the better part of the last two hours waiting on tenterhooks for the results of Dawn’s psychiatric exam, and Buffy had spent the last twenty minutes arguing with the doctor, willing to do anything to get her sister released.    
  
He, on the other hand, was waiting for Lawson, his nerves on edge.  Wesley had just left, heading for the Magic Box, instructions for Giles and Faith in hand.  He’d been more than surprised when he’d gotten back into Dawn’s room to find Wesley snoring softly in the chair, within reach of the bed.  Spike had figured on Giles being the one to arrive sometime during the night, so he wasn’t planning on the younger Watcher to be the one to brave the streets of Sunnydale to see how Dawn was faring.  Shrugging off his presence, Spike tucked Connor in beside Buffy and settled in another chair to watch over his family.  Thankfully, the rest of the night had passed uneventfully.  
  
Awareness thrumming through his nerves, Spike whirled around, turning to face the ER doors.  “C’mon out, kitten.”  
  
“Hey.”  She stepped out, standing under the red and white neon lights.  “No sign of him yet?”  
  
“No, but he should be here in a few ticks.”  As he reached her side, Spike kissed her forehead.  “Where’s the sprog?”  
  
“He’s sleeping in the carseat.  Maureen Osbourne is with him.”  Buffy stepped into his arms.  “I figured I’d come keep you company.”  
  
Instead of an answer, Spike motioned her to silence, then turned around to face the alleyway.  Footsteps echoed and he moved into a protective stance, blocking Buffy from whomever was approaching.  Seconds ticked by, and just as he was about to morph into gameface, Lawson stepped into the light.  
  
“Spike.”  He waited for Spike to acknowledge him, then moved closer.  “I’ve got some news.”    
  
“Do tell.”  
  
“Have no idea if it’s anything important, but Drusilla was in a frenzy when I got back to the mansion this morning.  Ranting about strawberries and baby slayers.  Angel was having a hard time getting her calmed down.”  
  
Spike ignored the snort from behind him, focused entirely on the vampire in front of him.  “Do you remember everything she said?”  
  
With a shake of his head, Lawson said, “I only heard bits and pieces of it.  They were locked in their bedroom when I got back.”  
  
Buffy’s mutterings caught the attention of both vampires and neither one could hide the smile.  “Like anyone would be able to understand insano-girl’s words.”  
  
“Slayer, leave off.”  Buffy slid out from behind Spike, eyeing the other vampire.  
  
“Skip the cuckoo’s nest update.  Is Angel getting ready to strike?”  
  
“Not tonight.  Drusilla was still ranting and he was sending out some of the minions for food.”  
  
Twin sighs broke from the mated pair and Lawson smiled.  
  
“Well, that’s a plus.”  
  
“Right then, Lawson, head over to the Magic Box and wait for me there.  Slayer and I are gonna move the troops.”  
  
The vampire left, somewhat dragging his feet and the two left behind shared a glance.  Without another word, Spike pulled out his cell phone, punching in Wesley’s number.  “Oxford, you at the shop yet?”  
  
He stared at Buffy, waiting for Wesley’s response.    
  
“Just sent Lawson over there.”  
  
 “Yeah, listen, just. . . Yeah, put Rupert on.”  
  
Buffy watched the exasperation build on his face, as his fellow Englishmen discussed something she couldn’t hear.  “Rupes . . .   Rupes, listen.  We’re bringing the kiddies home, gonna . . .     What?”  
  
He paused, listening as the elder watcher outlined his thoughts.  “Hold on, I’ll ask the Slayer.”  
  
Spike looked at her, clearly not thrilled with his suggestion.  “Watcher wants us to bring the kiddies there.”  
  
As he’d thought, Buffy was shaking her head.  “No.  Dawnie’s going home, to her own bed.  Tara and Anya can stay with them while we meet with Jenner.”  
  
Spike relayed her response, then barked out, “Whatever.  Don’t want any . . .  but the two Slayers and us.  Don’t care what . . .”  
  
Looking down at Buffy, Spike said, “Whelp says the cheerleader’s wakin’ up.”  
  
“Great.  One more thing to worry about.”  She glanced up at him, whispering for his ears only, “So that’s where he’s been the past couple of days.”  
  
“Appears that way.  He also said two of Wesley’s mates are upstairs with her now.”  
  
“Well that’s good.  At least we don’t have to worry about her on top of everything else.”  
  
There was the crackle of noise on the other end and Spike held the phone away from his ear.  “Jus’ sit tight.  Have the girls meet us at the house.”  
  
With a grimace at the wrangling going on at the other end of the phone, Spike disconnected.  “C’mon love, let’s get the kiddies.”  
  
In silence the two of them turned back inside, purposefully ignoring the other vampire in the shadows.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Unbelievable as it was, Willow found another orb in Sunnydale, in one of the local nurseries, of all places.  A wry grin flashed across her face and she very nearly had to stop herself from giggling hysterically.  She’d gone looking through bookstores and other places in Sunnydale that carried crystals and other decorating items, hitting pay dirt in the gardening supply store on the outskirts of town, going by the unlikely name of Dig ‘n Plant.  The only reason she’d tried either one of those spots was her memory of Giles using his orb – the first time she’d re-ensouled Angel – as a paperweight.  Taking the chance that some other shopkeeper would stock them in the decorating portion of the store, Willow had gone on the search.  
  
Pocketing her change, Willow lifted the bag from the counter, idly noting the time.  It was getting late, and she needed to get home before it was full dark, only because she didn’t want any last glitch foiling her plans.  
  
 _Almost ready . . .  Just a few more things.  And well, I still need to find my notes from last time.    So, first thing in the morning, I’ll be ready.  
_  
 _And then everything will be fixed._  
  
      
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Maureen Osbourne was holding a whining Connor when they arrived back in the room.  Buffy headed straight for the baby, holding out her arms for him.  “Hey, little guy, what’s wrong?”  
  
“I’m not sure.  He woke up just a few moments ago, fretting and complaining.  Didn’t settle down either when I picked him up.”  
  
“Aw.”  He snuffled against Buffy’s neck, banging his tiny fist, then as he caught her scent, Connor settled down.  
  
Once he stopped whining, Buffy asked the most important question on her mind.  “How soon is Dawn gonna be ready?”  
  
“They’ll be bringing her back in shortly.  Doctor Thomas wanted to make sure her reflexes were okay.”  The nurse paused, looking from one blond to the other.  “Her blood test came back with some anomalies.”  At the worried look on Buffy’s face, she rushed to continue.  “Nothing bad health-wise, just some strange readings.  Something in her blood managed to process all the drugs.  With the amount that showed up in her first blood test, there should still be traces of it now.  Yet there aren’t any.”  
  
After a long silence, during which neither of the blondes spoke, Maureen went on.  “She’s not entirely human is she?”  
  
“No.  She’s not.”  
  
Buffy’s reply was cut short, because the door flung open and an orderly pushed a wheelchair ensconced Dawn into the room.  
  
She still looked horrible, the dark bruises and swelling not receding in the short hours since her attack.  Spike crouched down, his eyes roaming over her injuries.  
  
“You okay, Platelet?”  
  
The concern in his voice was her undoing and tears slid down her face.    
  
“Oh, baby girl. . .”  
  
His arms circled round her, holding her much like Buffy was doing with Connor.  Murmuring soft words into her dark hair, he let her cry, not once attempting to stem her tears.  “Go ahead, jus’ cry it all out.  ‘ve got you.”  
  
Buffy drifted over to them, unable to stay away.  Her hand brushed down Dawn’s hair, her voice a softer counterpoint to Spike’s.    
  
  
  
        



	54. Reveal not every secret

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 54. Reveal not every secret  
  
  
Let us never negotiate out of fear,   
but let us never fear to negotiate.   
    John Fitzgerald Kennedy, Inaugural address  
  
A strong defense is the surest way to peace.   
Strength makes détente attainable.   
Weakness invites war . . .   
    Gerald R. Ford, Address to a joint session of Congress, August 12, 1974  
  
Reveal not every secret you have to a friend,   
for how can you tell but that friend may hereafter become an enemy.   
And bring not all mischief you are able to upon an enemy,   
for he may one day become your friend.  
    Saadi, Persian poet (1184 - 1291) _**  
  
  
  
Tara had the door opened and was standing just inside, waiting patiently for them to get home.  Anya and a very reluctant Xander were inside, getting food ready, while Oz waited on the front steps.  
  
The car ride between hospital and home was conducted in near silence, the only sounds the quiet squeak of Connor sucking on his pacifier.  None of the others could think of anything to say, unable to fall back on anything trivial.  
  
Spike’s mind was consumed with thoughts of how to get Jenner and his minions to stand down, leaving the coming confrontation between the remaining members of the Scourge and the Slayers.  Even without Jenner’s interference, the odds were not in their favor.  
  
Despite the damage their rescue mission had inflicted, Angel’s minions still outnumbered them.  And probably would, come the final confrontation.  A deep sigh broke from him and Buffy glanced over, though she said nothing.  It was nearly impossible to shield his thoughts from her anyway, and Spike didn’t even bother trying.  They’d already said pretty much everything there was to say while they’d been waiting for Dawn.  
  
 _“Can’t see how we’re goin’ to be able to do this, pet.  Peaches has at least three master vampires besides himself.  We’ve only got us and Rogue not too many white hats on the battleground.”  
  
Buffy watched him pacing back and forth, feeling his agitation grow as he pondered the situation.  “Wesley can fight, and so can Giles.”  
  
He stared at her for a long minute, an assessing look on his face.  “Yeah, an’ both of them can get hurt easier ‘an we can.”  
  
“We don’t have much choice though.  The only way to make sure the odds are better is to go in during the day.”  
  
“An’ that leaves me out, til you get inside.”  He shook his head.  “Not liking that any better.”  
  
“Do you think. . . maybe . . .  what about Lawson?  Would he help us?”  
  
He considered that for a few seconds, then shook his head again.  “Pro’lly, but he’s no master vamp.  Bit more ‘an a minion, so he’d be an asset, but still. . .”  
  
“So he’s not the fighter you are, so what?  Angel’s not the fighter you are.”    
  
Spike was shaking his head.  
  
“Angel’s all about the torture pet, he never was one for an outright brawl.  Doesn’t mean he’s gonna be easy to fight, though.”  
  
“What about getting Lawson to rig something at the mansion, like a fire bomb or something?”  Another thought surfaced and she blurted it out, before she changed her mind.  “There’s also skirt-girl.  We could put her to use.”  
  
“We’ll see.”  He paused, then spared a glance for the infant in her arms.  “Need to figure out something for the sprog an’ Niblet.”  
  
She sighed, following the path of his gaze.  “Yeah, I know.”  _  
  
 _They both had lapsed into silence then, waiting anxiously for word from Dawn’s doctors._  
  
In the intervening time, neither one had discovered a solution to their dilemma.  For the moment, and quite possibly  the coming confrontation, Dawn and Connor were going to be left in the care of Tara and Anya, with the two males providing protection and muscle.  
  
Spike cut the engine of the DeSoto, every sense on alert.  Nodding once at Buffy, he got out, then moved to get Dawn from the back seat.  Oz was there, helping Buffy with Connor’s things and staying between her and the street, guarding her flank.  Once she’d gained the porch, the werewolf drifted back toward Spike, performing the same function for the vampire.  
  
His actions, while not predatory, were battle-aware.  More than cognizant of his presence, Spike was forced to reassess Oz’ possible use in the inevitable confrontation.  
  
The werewolf was the last in the door, securing it behind him.  
  
Without pausing to explain to anyone, Spike shifted Dawn in his arms and headed for her bedroom.  
  
On his return to the first floor, Buffy was in the kitchen, issuing instructions.  Tara was listening intently, not once interrupting the Slayer.  Anya, too, was quiet.  
  
He hovered in the hallway, not taking his eyes from her profile, silently urging her to hurry.  
  
After a second flurry of activity, Buffy followed Spike out the door.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Giles looked up when the DeSoto’s roar echoed from the alleyway into the training room.  Everyone was there, though the vampires had yet to arrive; he harbored no illusions that they weren’t already outside the shop.  
  
The slamming of the car doors alerted everyone to the imminent appearance of the blonds.  Spike paused, letting Buffy precede him inside, remarking almost in passing, “Come inside, Lawson.  They won’t bite.”  
  
Buffy snickered, enjoying the pun, though as she strode into the main shop from the training room, all humor left her expression.  
  
Lawson trailed behind Spike, warily eyeing the others.  Pointing at the vampire, Spike said, “This is Lawson.  Peaches sired him in ‘43.”  Waiting for that tidbit to sink in, he continued, “Sam, that’s Faith, the other Slayer.  The other two are not Watchers, Giles and Wyndam-Price.”  
  
The humans nodded until the impact of Spike’s announcement about Lawson registered.  He knew the moment Wesley got it, waiting for Giles’ reaction a split second later.  The older Englishman stared at the new vampire, a speculative expression in his eyes.  Before anyone else could speak, Giles asked, “Can you sense anything?”  
  
“No soul, if that’s what you’re askin’, least not one like Peaches had, though there is something.”  Spike shot a glance at Lawson, “Forgive Sam Spade, he’s always asking inappropriate questions.”    
Sensing Spike’s frustration, Buffy interrupted before Giles could start the inquisition.  “Don’t really have time for this.  Can it wait until later?”  
  
“Buffy, the others haven’t arrived yet, we have time for a simple question or two.”  The elder Watcher relented, looking at Lawson.  “That is, as long as Lawson has no objections to answering a few inquiries.”  
  
The vampire looked a bit flummoxed, caught between a desire to be helpful and embarrassment.  Struggling for a way to gracefully put off the former Watcher, Lawson glanced at the master vampire, a slightly pleading look in his eyes.  
  
Mindful of Giles’ propensity for putting research ahead of tact, Spike said, “Lay off, Rupes, let him get used to you before you make him spill his life story.”  There was a pause and then, “An’ stop talking about him as if he weren’t here.”  
  
“Yes, please accept our apologies.  Perhaps later you might be willing to speak with us?”  Wesley played the peacemaker, allowing Giles to retreat gracefully.  
  
“That would be fine, sir.”  Lawson addressed his comment to the older man, identifying him as the one to please.   
  
“Very good.”  
  
Faith shifted, restlessly tapping her foot, idly remarking, “You sure he’s gonna show?”  
  
“He’ll show.”  Spike shared a look with Buffy, sending a slightly off-color thought about the other Slayer her way.  
  
“A girl could get old waiting on him.”  The dark-haired girl paced from counter to table, toyed with one of the stakes, then flung it down.  “All this waiting is not something I’m good with.  Gimme a good fight anytime.”  
  
“Don’t worry, Faith, I’m sure we’ll get one soon enough.”  Wesley moved to the table, flanking Giles.  “What are you reading?”  
  
“One of the few accounts of Jenner’s exploits.  He’s unusually cautious for a vampire.”  At Spike’s snort, Giles looked up.  “Something to contribute?”  
  
“Jenner never leaps before he looks.  Never met another vamp like him.”  
  
“What are the chances he’ll wait this one out?”  
  
“Bout even.”  
  
Before any of them could comment further, the bell over the front door sounded.  All of them glanced up, expectant looks on their faces.    
  
Spike moved forward, before the vampire at the door could enter, standing with one foot on the top step.  Buffy moved up behind him, while Faith stepped up after her.  
  
A dark-haired female vampire stepped slowly into the shop, her gaze fixed on Spike.  It had been years since Spike had seen her, and the only thing that had changed was the length of her hair.  He waited for her to speak – since she wasn’t a master vampire, protocol dictated that she speak first –  rocking back on his heels.  
  
“Jenner asks for a meeting with the Slayers and requests safe passage for himself and his people.”  
  
Her instructions from Jenner had been clear – ask for the meeting, ask for safe passage – nothing more, nothing less.  Glynnis waited, knowing William the Bloody spoke for all the Slayer’s people.  
  
Without glancing at Buffy, Spike waited for her response to the question.  He could feel Faith’s agitation growing as the seconds ticked by, though he remained silent until Buffy’s answer came in the form of a curt nod.  
  
“Tell Jenner his requests are granted.”  
  
Glynnis nodded her head, then slipped from the shop.  
  
A collective sigh echoed in the still atmosphere of the shop and some of the tension dissipated.  Buffy started to speak as the door opened again and before she could get a word out, Glynnis stepped back inside, followed by Hawkins and then, finally, Jenner.  
  
It was the first time Buffy set eyes on the other master vampire and she blinked, feeling her spider sense go haywire.  She suspected all the elder vampires of the Aurelian line would have a similar resonance and she wasn’t wrong, though there was something more about Jenner.  His signature was more aligned with Spike’s than she would’ve guessed, knowing he was older by a couple hundred years.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy saw Faith straighten, every muscle tense with anticipation . . .  _Oh my god!  Spike was right.   Faith’s got the hots for Jenner. . . Wow._  
  
Jenner paced forward, Glynnis and Hawkins on either side, stances poised for betrayal.  His eyes swept the group arrayed in front of him, deliberately ignoring the two Slayers.  Instead, he focused completely on the humans, recognizing their type, if not them personally.  
  
“You and your people are safe.  Welcome to the Magic Box.”  Spike’s voice broke the tense moment and he gestured the vampires toward the table.   
  
Wordlessly, the Welsh vampires moved forward, stopping at the first step.  Jenner reached out a hand, his eyes boring into Spike’s.  “Been a while, William.”  
  
There was no inflection in his voice, yet Spike could hear the question all the same.  “It has.”  He grinned then, clasping Jenner’s hand in his own, saying, “Welcome to the Hellmouth.  Pull up a chair.  Watch the fireworks.”  
  
A deep chuckle broke from Jenner and he grabbed at Spike’s shoulder, shaking the smaller man a little.  “You still owe me for getting you and Drusilla out of Europe.”  
  
“Yeah . . .  we’ll talk about that later.”  Shooting a wary glance at his mate, Spike grimaced.  His only response was a raised eyebrow and a bemused expression so Spike knew he wasn’t going to be yelled at for Jenner’s mention of his sire.  
  
Following Spike’s look, Jenner finally took the opportunity to look at the blond Slayer.  She was tiny, a petite little slip of a thing, barely coming up to Jenner’s chest.  Long blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, big luminous green eyes framed by dark lashes stared back at him, returning his intent perusal.  He drew in a breath, inhaling and memorizing her scent.    
  
And he reeled back in surprise.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Dawn wasn’t asleep.  She’d spent hours and hours sleeping, hiding from her memories.  Every time she closed her eyes, the sight of Casey’s mangled and lifeless body appeared.  
  
She wasn’t allowed free access to her painkillers any more.  That was the one condition the doctors all agreed on, and Buffy hadn’t fought them at all.  Dawn supposed it was for the best, but it still sucked.  
  
Her whole life sucked.  
  
The only guy her own age who really showed interest in her was . . .   Dawn shied away from that thought, refusing to think about Casey being gone.  She didn’t want to be stuck here in this bed with only her thoughts.  _So don’t want to be thinking about any damn thing.  I wish Spike had brought the television in here._  
  
 _Hell, I wish someone would come and talk to me._  
  
Dawn tried shifting, trying to get more comfortable, to no avail.  There wasn’t any position she considered free of pain.  Panting for air, Dawn pressed a hand against her ribs.  _Augh, this hurts soo freaking much._  
  
So caught up in the pain, Dawn didn’t hear Tara knocking on her door, and didn’t realize her presence until the older girl was siting on the edge of her bed.  
  
“Dawnie?  How are you doing?”  
  
“Crappy.”  Her tone was clipped, not inviting further comment, followed by a grimace of pain.  
  
Tara held out a mug, offering it to her.  “This should help with some of the pain.”  
  
A wary look crossed the teen’s features and she half shook her head.  “What’s in that?”  
  
“Ah, just some herbs to help you heal and relax.”  Tara soothed a hand over Dawn’s arm.  “Nothing you have to worry about.”  
  
“Did . . .   Did anyone? Did Buffy say something to you?”  She so didn’t want everyone knowing, didn’t want the weird looks and fake sympathy.  
  
“No one knows but me, Dawnie.  Don’t worry, I’m not . . . Not going to say anything.”  Tara looked into Dawn’s eyes, letting her see the sincerity in her own.  
  
“How did you know?  Who told you?”  
  
“Shhh, Dawnie.  No one told me, sweetie.”  Her voice was soft, soothing and Dawn had no choice but to believe her.  
  
“So how did you know?”  
  
“Your pain is very easy for someone like me to see.”  Tara held onto Dawn’s hand, not letting her pull away.  “It’s very clear.”  
  
“Oh.”  Dawn fought the new tears surfacing.  She really didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to give in to the sorrow flooding her.  “Tara, please don’t . . . I don’t want anyone else to know.”  
  
“No, I won’t say anything, though I’m here if you want someone to talk to.”  Tara leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on the teen’s forehead.  
  
“Tara?  Would you stay until I fall asleep?”  
  
With a wry smile, Tara settled back down on the bed.  “Sure thing.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
His reaction was visible and Jenner immediately tried to recover by taking a step back.  The action failed to cover his surprise and he found himself at a distinct disadvantage.  There was more to this than just a fight between Angelus and Spike – this wasn’t just about territory – it was about this woman and what she represented.  
  
Spike took the opportunity Jenner’s surprise gave him, compounding it.  “This is my mate, Buffy Summers, the Vampire Slayer.  Faith, the other Slayer, you’ve already met.”  
  
Before Spike could complete the introductions, Jenner interrupted.  “Never thought I’d meet another pair.”  He shook his head in disbelief.  “I think we both have things to say to each other.”  
  
“Appears so.”  Spike shared a look with Buffy.  Neither one of them missed the inference, nor the implication of Jenner’s statement.  He dropped down a step, his hand brushing across Buffy’s.  “Have a seat and we’ll talk.”  
  
For the first time since entering the shop, Jenner looked at Faith and found himself unable to look away.  She was . . .  Jenner found himself unable to come up with something to describe her.  He stared for long moments, aware of her looking right back at him.  Though human females normally did not affect him, there was something about the dark-haired Slayer drawing him in, and Jenner forced himself to remain still, to keep his hands at his side.  He had no need to draw in air to memorize her scent and yet he found himself doing it anyway, despite the fact he’d done it the first time he’d laid eyes on her.    
  
Buffy caught a glimpse of Giles’ face at the sudden silence between the other two.  Stifling a completely inappropriate giggle that was working its way through her throat, she was succeeding until her eyes met the corresponding twinkle in Wesley’s gaze.  The two spluttered, feeding off each other, until Spike’s chuckle joined them and the tension broke completely.  
  
The laughter effectively broke through to Hawkins and he started chuckling also.  Only Glynnis and Giles remained unmoved, neither finding anything remotely amusing about the Slayer and Jenner being enthralled by each other.  
  
“This is Hawkins and Glynnis.”  Indicating the other two, Jenner moved toward the table.  Spike slid onto a chair backwards, his arms resting across the top.  Buffy moved to stand beside him, her hand resting between his shoulders.  Giles and Wesley stood off to the side, as did the other two Welsh vampires.  Both Faith and Lawson hung back, standing closer to the counter.  
  
While the majority of participants were not vampires, this was still a meeting between two master vampires and the protocol, such as it was, would follow their dictates.  And so, though Jenner was the elder by more than two hundred years, Sunnydale was Spike’s territory and it was left to Jenner to speak first, showing respect to Spike.  
  
Knowing all this, while leaving the humans to guess, Jenner broke the expectant silence.  “Heard the blood call sent out by Angelus.  Decided to respond since I knew he was here at the Hellmouth.  Knew the old fella had been here too.  Thought it had something to do with the Slayer.”  
  
He didn’t lift his eyes from Spike’s but he could feel the collective movement of the others at Spike’s back.  “Angelus normally stays away from Slayers.  Not like some others.”  Spike’s only reaction was a grin and a nod of his head, indicating Jenner should go on.  “Then I heard you were here.  And since you already owe me, I decided to come collect.”  
  
Buffy’s hand fisted, then relaxed.  She hesitated, waiting to see what Spike was going to do next.    
  
“Situation is a bit complicated here.”  It was all Spike wished to say at the moment, unwilling to give Jenner more until he had heard everything else the other master vampire had to say.  
  
“At first I thought this was merely about Angelus reasserting his familial rights.  Naught more, naught less.”  Jenner finally looked away from Spike, resting his eyes on Buffy.  “Come here to find out it’s a bit more than nothing.”  
  
Apropos of nothing, Jenner continued, addressing his comments specifically to the mated pair.  “You remind me of them.  Only met them once, but there was something . . . ”  He shook his head as if to clear his memories.  “They were a sight to behold.”  
  
Buffy’s hand slid forward, cupping Spike’s shoulder and his free hand reached up to clasp her fingers.  “What happened to them?”  
  
“Council finally caught up with them.  He was out hunting and somehow they got to her.  Captured her.  They both died during the rescue.”  Jenner watched while the two of them exchanged a look.  
  
“What year was that?”  Giles couldn’t keep the question from escaping his mouth.  
  
“1740 or so.  I hadn’t been changed very long.”  
  
The blonds shared a look.  “Their names?”  
  
“When I knew them, he was called The Norman.  Supposedly he was one of the Marcher lords holding lands in Wales.  Wasn’t his real name.  She was Bryn, born in Rhuddlan.”  
  
Giles leaned forward, his hands on the table.  “Bryn of Rhuddlan.  You mean to tell us she lived until sometime in the early 1740s?”  
  
Not used to being questioned, Jenner’s voice took on a slight edge.  “That is what I said.”  
  
Silence descended on the group, disbelief and a sense of foreboding filling the space.  
  
Spike looked up at Buffy, who stared down at him.  Suddenly, a lifetime together didn’t seem so impossible.  His thumb brushed over hers and she couldn’t hold back the tiny gasp that escaped from her.  
  
In an instant, Spike was on his feet, his arms around Buffy, holding her close.  
  
The other vampires had no clue what had affected the humans, until Giles spoke quietly into the silence.  
  
“Bryn of Rhuddlan was identified by the Council as a potential slayer in 1585.  She died two years later and was somehow resurrected.”  He paused for a moment, letting that piece of news sink in, then continued, “She . . .  according to Council records, they lost track of her shortly after that.”  
  
Jenner sat back in his chair, a somewhat stunned look on his face, which was mirrored by the confusion on various faces, including Faith’s.  
  
Once more silence descended.


	55. The shadow of power

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 55 The shadow of power  
  
The truth is that every intelligent man,   
as you know,   
dreams of being a gangster and of ruling over society by force alone.  
    Albert Camus, The Fall  
  
After all, negotiations make strange bedfellows  
    The Simpsons, Last Exit to Springfield (#4.17)  
  
Power never takes a back step - only in the face of more power.   
    Malcolm X, Malcolm X Speaks  
  
Negotiations are a euphemism for capitulation   
if the shadow of power is not cast across the bargaining table.   
    George Schultz_**  
  
  
The clarion alarms ringing didn’t disturb the finally sleeping teenager, though it did rouse Tara.  She’d drifted into a light sleep, sitting with Dawn, her mind filled with sad images and fears of what was coming and she’d been trying to calm herself, find her center and relax.  She extricated herself from Dawn’s hold at the first sounding of the alarm and made her way down the stairs.  The others could handle it, probably, since they were closer, but Tara . . . suddenly had a funny feeling, a sinking sensation in the pit of her belly.  
  
“Don’t go out!  Don’t open the door!”  Her forceful out-of-character yell caught Xander’s attention with his hand on the doorknob, preparing to open it and check on what was attempting to breach the wards.  
  
“Why not?  What is that noise?”  He stared at her, confusion rife on his face.  
  
“Because. . . I . . .   Just don’t open it yet.”  
  
Anya popped around the dining room wall, watching the exchange, a dishtowel hanging from her hands.  “Obviously she’s imagining something very bad trying to get in through the wards.  Perhaps you ought to listen.”  
  
“Wards?  What wards?”  Xander glanced from one person to the next, expecting an answer to his question.  When none was forthcoming he pitched his voice a little higher and louder, but the others just talked over him, momentarily ignoring his distress.  
  
Xander looked from one girl to the other, fully prepared to ignore both of them when Oz spoke.  “Don’t.  Whatever it is, isn’t good.  And it’s not human either.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
“Yeah.”  Oz looked up at Tara, who was still poised on the stairs, an impassive look on his face.  “It got through the wards.”  
  
“I know.  We need to do something about it.”  
  
Anya clutched the towel tight, wringing it between her hands.  “What should we do?”  
  
Tara thought for a minute, then walked down the few steps to the floor.  “We take care of this, strengthen the wards, then let Buffy and Spike know.”  
  
“So we take out bad guy at the door?”  Xander was not at all happy with someone else taking charge and fought the urge to give Tara a hard time.  
  
As a response, Tara moved to his side, gently pushing him away from the door.  With a nod at Oz, Tara closed her eyes and concentrated.  A wave of something powerful rose up from the floor, more sensed than felt or seen and passed through them into a focal point at Tara’s upraised hand through the door.  
  
There was a subsonic growl of pain, a thud and then finally silence.  Tara opened the door, letting only Oz out.  
  
A few grunts and growls later, Oz was at the door again, his voice sounding muffled as he knocked, “It’s me.”  
  
She opened the door, just wide enough to let him in.  Xander stood just at the stairway, an expectant look on his face.  “Well, what was it?”  
  
“Not sure.  Looked human, but it had orangey-skin and green blood.  I stashed it in the back.”  
  
“Kay.”  Tara wandered into the kitchen, thinking heavily.  _How did this thing get through the wards?  They should’ve stopped it._ “This isn’t good.  We’re gonna need to reinforce the wards before Buffy and Spike get home.  Anya, can you give me a hand?”  
  
“Sure.  I’m happy to be useful.  Were there any unusual markings on the demon?  Did you get a look at its eyes?”  Anya purposefully ignored Xander’s mutterings, turning away from his disapproval.  “It’s a good thing you saved the carcass, that will make identification much easier.  Rupert won’t be pouring over his old and sometimes inaccurate books all night.”  
  
Tara fought the laughter her artless comments raised and started gathering the supplies to reinforce the wards.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Not a sound broke the silence, after Giles relayed his information about Bryn of Rhuddlan.  
  
Spike held onto Buffy, not daring to look at her.  Giles’ words, compounded by Jenner’s announcement, caused concern to flood through him.  They’d had no validation of the theory Bryn or any of the other potentials had been mated to their vampires, until now.  Jenner’s information indicated that pair had at least been mated.  There was no other way they would have survived together for so long unless they were.  
  
What this meant for them, Spike had no idea – only one thing kept echoing in his head – _longer than just her shortened life span_ – they might have a chance at a real lifetime together; provided they got through the next couple of days.  The memory of existing without her was still fresh in his mind, a sometimes gaping hole he sought to fill by holding her close, making love with her, bodies locked together in passion – and not just merely passion.  
  
He dared a glance at her bowed head, wondering what was going through her mind.  Sometimes, especially since their claim, he could feel what was passing through her head; at this moment, though, his own mind was so filled with confusion and hope that he couldn’t identify any of her thoughts.  All he knew – all he was certain of was her fingers clinging to his biceps, her head resting against his chest.  
  
Buffy’s free hand slipped between their bodies, covering her still flat belly.  Though she wasn’t yet focused on the real implications of both announcements, she had latched onto one aspect.  Suddenly the possibility of living until the baby she carried grew to adulthood wasn’t impossible.  It was possible.  She’d been filled with worry, before telling him, that someday in the perhaps not so distant future, she’d have to leave Spike alone with a small child.  Now . . . _Now_ maybe that fear might not ever come to fruition.  
  
His hand dropped to cover hers, fingers meshing together.  Buffy’s thoughts centered on their connection – the unbreakable, intangible one as well as the physical one – and a sudden wave of some indescribable emotion swept through her, washing away whatever worry she’d been carrying.  Perhaps it was hope, she really didn’t know in that moment.  It no longer mattered though, because she was going to have that time with Spike and their family – however big or small it might end up being.  A small gasp, audible only to Spike sounded from her lips and a smile bloomed across her face when he dropped another kiss on her head.  
  
Voices low and fervent drifted over them, yet neither paid them any heed.  The last few days had been fraught with nothing but pain, despair and fear.  Precious little time had they taken to console each other, so they grasped at it now.  Seized the moment Jenner’s bombshell had given them and run with it, ignoring everyone around them.  
  
By unspoken mutual agreement, they finally broke apart, yet not completely so.  Their hands remained clasped, reluctant to let go, and together they turned to face their on-lookers, more than aware of Jenner’s almost amused expression.  
  
“Could have taken you both before either of you realized what was happening.”  
  
From almost out of nowhere, Buffy produced a stake, twirling it almost absently between her fingers.  “Not hardly.  Haven’t survived this long without keeping one eye always opened.”  
  
The vampire’s gaze moved over the others and was hard-pressed to hide his surprise.  Each and every one of the Slayer’s group had some sort of weapon in hand, poised for action.  
  
He raised his hands, indicating he wasn’t going to attack, saying, “Relax, was just trying to prove a point, which actually didn’t quite work like I planned.”  
  
A chuckle sounded from Spike, drawing all eyes to him.  “That’s the thing ‘bout my girl.  Nothing goes according to anyone’s plans.  Always keeps ‘em guessing.”  
  
“So I see.”  Jenner paused, waiting for the weapons to disappear.  “Can see why she caught your eye.”  
  
Spike grinned, his next comment drawing a blush to Buffy’s cheeks.  “Best bloody Slayer  ‘ve ever fought.”  
  
For the first time since entering the Magic Box, Hawkins spoke.  “And how many is that now?   By my count, this one makes nine.”  
  
The blond vampire glanced between Buffy and Giles.  “Does the island girl count?”  
  
Knowing full well who he meant, Buffy shook her head.  “Please, you fought Kendra for like ten minutes.”    
  
Her look clearly said counting Kendra was pushing it, while Spike retorted with, “Would’ve counted if I’d offed her.”  
  
“But you didn’t, Dru killed her.”  Buffy’s voice softened and she looked away, memories of Kendra flooding her thoughts.    
  
Silence reigned for a few moments, until Wesley cleared his throat.  “You’ve fought _nine_ slayers?”  
  
“Yeah.”  He had the grace to look chagrined, schooling his voice to remain neutral.  Given his present company, it was the wisest course of action.  His next words though, slipped out before he really had time to think.  “Pretty sure this is the last one though.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
It had been more than thirty-six hours since Drusilla had been completely lucid.  Even tying her up and keeping her drugged hadn’t calmed her much, only sire’s blood keeping her somewhat coherent.  Angel had been trying to make some sense of all the whispers, knowing instinctually there was something vital eluding him.  
  
Nearly two days, she’d been ranting, going on ceaselessly about strawberries and the king of cups – and it was slowly driving him insane.  He normally could handle Dru’s fits and starts, but at this moment in time, he wasn’t in the mood to sit and decipher her cryptic messages.  Angel was tired, achy and barely holding onto the frayed edges of his temper.  He needed to strike back at the two blonds, eliminate both of them.  He’d lose no sleep over dusting Spike, since he’d been nothing but a thorn in his side for years, ever since the Boxer Rebellion; and Buffy . . . _she needed to be taught a lesson.  
_  
It wasn’t that he wanted her – in fact he wouldn’t take Spike’s leavings now if he was given the world on a platter.  But he wanted her to _suffer_.  For everything.  For making him feel – for making him want to be a hero – Angel shuddered, a crawling sensation shivering up the back of his neck.  He’d hoped, with Cordelia, he and the two women could wreak havoc, once the she was turned.  But the blond Slayer and her slave had stolen that from him.  Instead, he was back to square one, trying to find Willow and with a crazed Drusilla on his hands.  
  
The blood call had proved less than what he’d expected.  Neither Toussaint nor Rebecca had any real desire to follow his orders, though for now they were playing along.  Drusilla was indisposed for god knows how long and Jenner . . .   Angel had no idea why the other vampire had even bothered.  Their mutual dislike was a centuries old feud – something that occurred on their initial meeting.  At least with Spike that really hadn’t happened until years into their relationship.  He had a bad feeling about Jenner’s presence on the Hellmouth.  More than once in the past, meetings between them had become confrontations and with almost every single instance, Angel had been forced to back down.  
  
A low growling whine sounded from Drusilla’s throat, setting his teeth on edge.  He’d sent Ray and a couple other minions to the hospital, with instructions to bring back sedatives.  Since Drusilla was not responding to any entreaties to calm down, he was resorting to drugging her heavily.  It was the only way he was going to get any rest.  
  
More noises sounded from her prone figure and Angel could feel his aggravation growing.  
  
“Shut up, Dru.”  
  
She whined again, and he swung at her, his big fist landing with a sickening crunch in her side.  “Enough, Dru!  I’m going out.”  
  
He stormed from the room, grabbing a shirt and his trench coat on the way out.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Papers were scattered all over the floor of her bedroom, post-it notes and highlighters piled next to her on the bed, as Willow tried to make sense of her notes.  In the hasty move out of Buffy’s house to her parents, all her magical supplies had been carefully put into organized boxes; her paperwork was another story.  It had all been pretty much dumped into one of two boxes, in no particular order.    
The supply list was behind her, tacked to the wall with tape and she was now methodically going through each and every piece of paper in both boxes.  The notes from the original spell were on an old computer printout, which she had yet to completely locate.  Frustrated with her lack of success, her temper was beginning to fray and every so often, sparks would fly from the ends of her hair, arcing out like tiny electrified worms.  
  
Had she bothered to look at herself, Willow might have been frightened by the changes.  As it was, she couldn’t see the darkness seeping slowly into her eyes, the color leaching from her cheeks, nor did she see the growing sharpness of her usually soft features.  She was also unaware of the changes in her temperament – the shortness of her temper and the all consuming anger she was beginning to feel.  Anger with her situation – reduced to living once more with her parents, being ostracized from her once friends and lover, banished from the inner circle.  
  
Anger consumed her thoughts, fueling the surges of misdirected energy crackling from her.  Papers rustled beneath her fingers, tiny sparks arcing with each discarded sheaf.  Willow began muttering imprecations under her breath, grumbling her frustration aloud.  
  
 _This is all their fault . . .  I never would have had to leave if they, if Spike had just minded his own darn business.  He’s the one. . .  Buffy wouldn’t have turned against me, neither would Tara.  But I can fix this . . .   All I have to do is find this stupid spell, my notes. . .   And I can fix all this._  
  
Blaming all her current woes on Spike’s shoulders, Willow nearly shrieked when she found the translation of the gypsy curse.  Doing a little shimmy and giggling madly, Willow sprung up from the bed.  
  
 _Here’s the key!  I can fix everything now. . ._  
  
Overloaded with conflicting emotional energy, Willow’s thoughts careened from one extreme to another, while the electrical manifestation of her emotions gained power and frequency.  Grasping her athame, Willow realized her error a split second too late.  
  
The silver-handed dagger flared like a beacon, all the electrical circuits in the house shorted and everything went black.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Sworn off fighting any more Slayers?”  Hawkins couldn’t keep the disbelief from his voice.   Spike’s announcement caught him by surprise and he couldn’t help the question from exploding out of him.  
  
“Fighting beside one is a bit more of a challenge.”  Spike wasn’t about to let any of the other vampires present know about his handicap.  With any kind of luck, it wouldn’t be much of an issue.  While it might appear Jenner was willing to listen and at least entertain the possibility of remaining neutral, Spike wasn’t going to reveal their biggest weakness.  
  
Bad enough Angel knew about it.  Though so far he didn’t appear overly eager to exploit that knowledge.  
  
“Never figured you for a turncoat.”  For only the second time that night, Glynnis spoke, and the obvious disdain in her tone made Buffy tense.  
  
Renewed tension filled the air and the atmosphere grew heavy.  
  
“I’ve my reasons.”  His abrupt dismissal of Glynnis and her attitude caused the female vampire to bristle.  She stepped forward, growling low in her throat, though at a deeper, more  menacing growl from Spike, Glynnis halted her actions.  
  
“Don’t mistake my fighting on the side of good for going soft.”  
  
Wesley watched the exchange, realizing he was seeing something few humans ever got the chance to experience and survive.  Right before his eyes, Spike’s entire demeanor changed, morphing from the affable man he called friend to the terrifying master vampire.  
  
His body seemed to lengthen, supernatural energy suffusing his form with power.  Power not even matched by the other master vampire.  He’d never witnessed anything quite like this and Wesley was certain few of the others had either, even Buffy stepped back, though he had the feeling it was not out of fear.  Rather, it was more giving him room to fight if it became necessary.  Glynnis stepped back, moving closer to her sire, however at a motion from Jenner, she halted her movement, waiting for another signal.    
  
“Leave it, Glynnis.  It’s not your place.”  Her defiance was visible and she bristled even more at being chastised in front of humans, but she kept her silence.  
  
Spike looked to Jenner, then, with his patience at an end, asked the one question he’d wanted an answer to for the last twenty-four hours.  “Have I got your word you won’t interfere with what’s coming between Angelus and myself?”  
  
The older vampire waited a beat, weighing the question he knew was coming since Spike had asked for the meeting.  Involuntarily, his eyes drifted toward the dark-haired Slayer.  His personal involvement aside, the idea of Angelus being foolish enough to go against two Slayers when he’d never before exhibited any desire to face one – not to mention his unbridled arrogance and inability to see the bigger picture – Jenner had a feeling the people in front of him would do anything to defeat the threat looming against them.  Could he stand aside and do nothing?  
  
Angelus hadn’t asked for his assistance; he’d merely assumed Jenner would side with him, without providing any reason for Jenner to act.    
  
On the other hand, could he stand aside and let the forces of good operate without impunity?  
  
Faith looked him squarely in the eyes, her mouth in a grim line.  There was more than just a dispute between Angel and Spike going on here, and everyone in the shop was aware of it.  How they were going to jump was anyone’s guess.  But she wasn’t going to try and influence Jenner, not when she had no idea how far his . . . interest in her went.  Faith knew exactly what her leverage was, and how little of it she really had, so it was pointless to even press the meager advantage.  
  
There was a deep silence in the Magic Box, as if they were all suspended in clear amber, waiting for some signal to free them from their imprisonment.  Jenner stared at Faith; while both Buffy and Spike watched the pair of them.    
  
It was all down to Jenner.


	56. The enemy of my enemy

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 56.  The enemy of my enemy  
  
From this we learn   
that a wise prince sees to it that never,   
in order to attack someone,   
does he become the ally of a prince   
more powerful than himself,   
except when necessity forces him  
    Niccolo Machiavelli, The Prince  
  
The trouble about being on the side of right,   
as one sees it,   
is that one often finds oneself in the company of such very questionable allies.  
    Separate Tables (1958)  
  
If you are no longer his friend, what can you be but his enemy?  
    "I, Claudius", Cassius Chaerea_**  
  
  
  
  
There were moments, brief instances of time when one’s life is defined, and all is looked at with complete clarity.  And there are other moments when instead of life that is given clarity it is ourselves.  Rupert Giles had experienced both of those kinds of moments, enough to perhaps be aware of when another was approaching.  He’d felt like he was on the brink of one or another for the past few days.  Oddly enough, he realized, standing in his own shop, this time the moment was not his.  He was just there to witness it, to watch it all unfold.  As a Watcher, it made perfect sense  
  
So perhaps this was, after all, one of his moments.  
  
The moment – such as it was – belonged to two beings; one of which he’d come to trust almost implicitly.  The other was an unknown factor, someone he hadn’t known personally until, well, this moment.  
  
Yet their fates, quite possibly, rested on the formidable shoulders of one Jenner, master vampire of the line of Aurelius.  He wondered, not for the first time, if any of them, other than Spike had ever made the connection – they were of the house of the Golden Ones.  _Could it be another reason why more of them had been drawn to the Chosen ones over the centuries?  
_  
Giles was abruptly shaken from his musings by a sharp exclamation from Jenner, halting the female vampire’s agitation.  Mentally shaking his head at his own distraction, he refocused on the situation.      
It took him more than a few seconds to realize Glynnis was reacting to something Jenner had said in response to Spike’s last question.  Whatever it was, she was not reacting favorably and looked to be disagreeing and rebelling against whatever Jenner had decided.  Which boded well for them.  
  
 _Bugger it, Rupert, you’ve lost the plot._  
  
Judging by the looks of relief on various faces throughout the room, he was more than certain the decision had been made.    
  
Spike’s voice was low and full of menace, his ire directed solely at the female.  ‘I’m not askin’ any of you to fight with us, just to stand down and remain neutral.“  
  
“And that’s all I’m willing to agree to, for the moment.”  Jenner’s stance didn’t change, though everyone could feel his patience seeping away with every little snarl erupting from Glynnis’ mouth.  “We are done here, William.”  
  
“That we are.”  Spike nodded his head once, watching with hooded eyes as the vampires filed from the shop.  “Jenner.”  
  
He was up the steps and at the doorway before Jenner turned around to respond.  Rupert strained forward to hear what they were now discussing, but aside from the tones, he couldn’t hear any words, nor discover their moods.  The two spoke briefly, then Jenner nodded once, closing the door behind him.  
  
Giles peered over his glasses as Spike bounced down the steps, his posture a mix between satisfied and exhausted.  With a glance over at Lawson, Spike said, “Well, that’s done.”  
  
“So you got what you aimed for?”  Lawson was the only one to speak, the others already knowing what Spike had been trying to accomplish.  
  
“Did.  Now we need to come up with a plan for Angelus.”  
  
“Spike?”  When he reacted to her calling his name, Buffy’s eyes shifted toward Lawson and he nodded once, understanding her clearly.  
  
“Right, first things first.  Lawson, need a word with you.”  He motioned the other vampire toward the training room, closing the door behind them.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy watched the two vampires go, her mind whirling with the possibilities of what exactly Spike was planning on doing to ensure Lawson’s loyalty.  While she didn’t think it required a ritual bloodletting, it wasn’t necessarily something she could completely rule out either.  Forcing thoughts of what could be taking place behind closed doors from her mind, Buffy focused her attention on the other problem facing them.  
  
“Okay, so what do we think Willow’s gonna do?”  
  
Giles shook his head, reaching for his glasses unconsciously.  When both Buffy and Faith cleared their throats, he checked his hand and smoothed down his hair instead.  The girls shared brief giggles, but Faith’s question forestalled any further merriment.  
  
“Is she really all that powerful?”  
  
It was Wesley who answered, and the grim tone of his voice gave his statements weight.  “Given the magnitude of the spell you broke, and the act of resurrecting Buffy, should make us wary of the extent of Willow’s powers.  It is entirely possible her abilities exceed her . . .” His voice trailed off for a moment, and then Giles spoke.  
  
“Her sense.  I’m quite certain Willow is unaware of the extent of her own powers.  Nor is she aware of her own hubris in exercising said powers.  What she did with that last spell reeks of an inability to comprehend that the people around her are actually real.  She’s,”  he paused, obviously trying to find the words to describe how far Willow had drifted from reality.  “She has begun to view herself as the only one capable of orchestrating the lives around her.  Willow is not allowing anyone to exercise their own free will.”  
  
“Which is a bad thing.”  Faith wasn’t making the connection Giles was trying to make for all of them.  
  
“Her behavior is like that of a puppeteer, pulling the strings and attempting to control the actions of those she deems inferior in some way or incapable of making their own decisions.  Obviously she views Buffy in that group.”  
  
With that, Buffy picked up her head, staring off into space for a moment.  She then spoke, almost idly, “Because of Spike.  She’s angry with me because she thinks I chose Spike instead of her.  And Tara thinks . . .  Tara thinks Willow’s not going to stop either, until she fixes things the way she thinks they should be.”  
  
“So the short answer to your question, Faith, is yes, she really is that powerful.”  Wesley moved from the counter to sit in the chair Spike vacated earlier.  “There might be a way to shield you and Tara from the effects of any further spellcasting Willow might attempt, at least temporarily.”  
  
“Why just me and Tara?”  Buffy sat down opposite Wesley, her eyes following his hands as he flipped through some of the books on the table.  
  
“Tara seems an obvious target, given their former relationship.  And in your case, there are two reasons.”  Faith drifted toward the table also, listening closely.  
  
“Which are?”  
  
“She is angry with you.  Since you stated so yourself, I’m going to take that into account.  And, Buffy, given your condition, I think it wise to use whatever means at our disposal to protect you.”  Giles dropped his hand onto her shoulder, lending her support and strength.    
   
“Is that even gonna be possible?”  Reaching some inner decision, Buffy looked from Giles to Wesley, drawing in a calming breath before she spoke.  “I don’t think I wanna rely on magical means to keep us safe.  No, before you say anything, hear me out.”  
  
She raised her hands, then fisted them and ticked off her reasons one by one.  “It’s just another way to get to us, should the magic fail.  We’d be more vulnerable if it’s broken than before.  Skirt-girl can take regular patrols with one of you once I get too big to go out.  Hopefully we won’t have to worry about her for that long, because I’m not loving the whole let’s make Buffy Willow’s doll to play with.”  She huffed a bit, ignoring Faith’s growing confusion over the turn the conversation had taken.  “Besides, Spike is right.  There’s always consequences when you use magic.  Not so sure I wanna take the chances with itty-bitty Buffy.”  
  
Silence filled the Magic Box until Faith’s brain caught up with the discussion.  “Itty-bitty Buffy?  What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“Ah.  Yeah . . . um.”    
  
Even the blush blooming on Buffy’s face didn’t help Faith and she looked from one to the other, asking, “What?”  
  
“I’m pregnant.”  
  
“Whoa.  No shit.”  She stared at the blond Slayer, confusion writ large on her features.  “So who’s the daddy?”  
  
When all she got back were pointed stares and varying degrees of ‘ _duh_ ’, Faith started laughing.  “No way.  Vamps can’t do that.”  
  
Her laughter died quickly once she realized no one was joining her and she lost her smile when Giles began speaking.  
  
“While normally I would have to agree with you, in the course of researching Connor’s birth, I uncovered an interesting twist.  While I was searching for answers about how it was possible for Darla to conceive, I discovered other examples of the phenomenon.  What it boils down to is any returned from the dead potential or Slayer and any Aurelian male master vampire have the potential to create life. Only given those circumstances can a vampire procreate.”  
  
Faith’s mouth had dropped open, her eyes grown wider by the word and she stood completely motionless.  
  
“So. . .  Holy shit.”  Opening and closing her mouth a couple of times, Faith struggled to find her composure.  Inhaling deeply, she leaned heavily on the table.  “So in addition to dealing with being brought back, Buffy has to worry about another kid?”    
  
Snaking a glance at her counterpart, Faith arched an eyebrow.  “You okay with this, B?”  
  
A sly grin, very reminiscent of Spike’s crossed her features and Buffy nodded, “Kinda had an idea this might happen once Giles dropped the bomb.  Timing isn’t perfect, but we can deal.”  
  
With her words, Faith slumped into one of the chairs.  “Girl goes away for a couple of years and _everything_ gets freaky.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Watching the girls with a suspicious eye, Xander realized two things and he wasn’t sure if he liked either thought.  Tara was a hell of a witch, something that made him a bit uncomfortable, because he’d only noticed it since she split from Willow.  The second item disturbed him a bit more, though he wasn’t about to admit it to anyone but himself, especially since it concerned his own girlfriend, well fiancée . . . she was scary.  Scary as in nightmare scary.  
  
Anya was currently doing things he didn’t . . .  Stepping outside his comfort zone wasn’t something Xander liked doing.  Demons were bad – all of them – and none of them were worth saving.  He’d barely made an exception for Angel and that was because of Buffy.  Anya was no longer a demon.  Or so he thought, _hoped_.  Watching her now, though, he wasn’t entirely sure.  Okay, so she wasn’t all veiny, but there was _something_. . . other about her that set the hairs on the back of his neck on alert.  
  
Maybe he’d made a mistake, asking her to marry him all those months ago.  He wasn’t sure. . . he just didn’t know anymore.  
  
Lately, though, he wasn’t sure of anything.  His best friend was all strange and strung out, going on crazy weird power trips; his girlfriend wasn’t acting much better.  Angel, who was supposed to be one of the good guys had gone back to slaughter and done unspeakable things to Cordelia, while Spike was all Mr. Goodguy.  
  
Xander didn’t like all this topsy-turvyness.  Didn’t like being off balance all the time.  And he certainly wasn’t happy with all this magic.  
  
The two girls were sitting inside a circle they’d marked with chalk and then sealed with sand, a bunch of crystals around them.  While he’d been thinking, the two had started chanting, and now, as their voices picked up in both speed and volume, several of the crystals sparked, light flaring and sparkling.  
  
Oz shifted and Xander looked at him.  He would have thought Oz would be wigged like him, and he was surprised when he just smiled slightly.  “Watching this is cool.”  
 _  
Okay, I guess he’s not wigged at all._   “Uh.  Not sure I follow you.”  Xander turned to face the werewolf.  “And how come you’re talking?”  
  
“Got unwired earlier.”  Oz opened his mouth to show Xander, then said, “It’s all about the girl power.”  
  
“Huh.  Okay.”  He didn’t get what Oz was talking about.  Not at all.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The hall was quiet, not even the soundless breathing  of hundreds of otherworldy beings enough to penetrate the encompassing silence.  This was not a moment to savor, nor was it a reason to be pleased by his lord’s summons.  Wary dark eyes focused on the spot just below his lord’s chair.  The utter failure to apprehend the betrayer had resulted in a summons to appear before his master.  Even the hounds were subdued, only the two alphas bold enough to remain on their feet beside him.  
  
A voice deeper than time echoed through the hall.  “You failed.  Judgment is required, a reckoning is long overdue.  The betrayer must be retrieved.  Do not fail in this.  The Chosen One must be protected.”  
  
Bowing his head in further deference, the Huntsman waited for the final pronouncement from the Lord of the Underworld.  
  
“Do not fail in this task.  The betrayer must be taken.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Right then.”  Spike closed the door behind them, his eyes focused intently on Lawson’s impassive features.  “Need to suss out where you stand.”  
  
The younger vampire watched him, unflinching from Spike’s intent gaze.  “Thought that was beginning to be obvious.”  
  
“Obvious p’rhaps, but I need to know you aren’t ‘bout to turn round an’ sell us out to Angelus.”  Spike started pacing, walking the length of the training room, his brain coming up with and discarding various ways of ensuring Lawson’s loyalty.  “Can’t take any risks right now.  We’ve no room for mistakes at all.”  
  
Lawson stayed motionless and silent, knowing instinctively Spike would accept no suggestions from him.  Spike was still pacing back and forth, almost ignoring Sam’s presence. He could hear soft muttering as the older vampire continued to talk to himself.  
  
“Lawson.”  Spike whirled around, a decision apparently reached.  “I’m gonna ask you to swear fealty to me an’ mine.”  
  
“Chief,”  Sam finally spoke, wary of inciting Spike’s wrath.  “I have no loyalty to Angelus.  He sired me, then left me to die, didn’t care one way or the other about me.  So I’m not all that broken up about this.”  
  
Their eyes locked and Spike said, “This requires more than just your promise.”  
  
“Kind of figured that.  What exactly am I supposed to do?”  
  
“Don’t expect you to understand or even know blood rituals, an’ what happens.  You aren’t a minion, since you rose so fast, ‘m thinking Angelus gave you almost enough to make you a childe. . . but not enough.”  He finally paused in his pacing, leaning against the brick wall, his gaze focused on something in the distance.  
  
“That’s right, I don’t know about rituals or any of the traditional things about vampires.  Don’t know about. . . whatever I learned about being a vampire I learned from you.  I trust you.  Don’t have any reason not to.”   Sam shook his head, watching Spike with a slightly wary eye.  He meant what he’d said, he just didn’t know how the other vampire would react to the knowledge he was basically Sam’s sire.  
  
Apparently, though, Spike reached the conclusion on his own or was just facing the fact, because a low chuckle filled the air.  “Yeah.  Knew that . . .  Angelus shirked his duties there, but ‘m thinking he never intended for you to survive this long.”  Making a decision, Spike moved away from the wall, shrugging out of the duster as he did.  “There’s two ways we could do this.  First is . . .  Although there’s a bit of a problem since I doubt my lady would approve and I’m not looking to shag you into submission.”  
  
Sam actually shied back, not so much out of disgust, but more out of fear what the Slayer would do if Spike actually chose that route.  Catching a glimpse of Sam’s reaction, Spike’s chuckle got louder.  “Not gonna happen.  There is another way.  Could just have you give in an’ say somethin’ profound about you accepting my authority as your sire.”  A wide grin split his features then and he continued, “Unless you want me to beat you senseless and _then_ we do all the mumbo-jumbo.”  
  
“That kind of defeats the purpose of making me stronger though, doesn’t it?”  Sam again pointed out the obvious, while Spike shook his head in agreement.    
  
“So we forego the beatin’ and just move forward to the symbolic.”   Spike cocked his head to the side, thinking deeply.  “You sure you’re okay with all this?”  
  
Somehow, Sam knew Spike wasn’t looking for a quick or easy answer from him and he’d thought he explained it all earlier, and right at this moment, Spike was giving him a way to back out gracefully, with no loss of his pride.  Except this wasn’t about pride, or dignity or anything else other than a sense of home, of belonging to something or someone and that he wasn’t alone any longer.  Sam had been alone, save for one-night stands since his turning. . . nearly sixty years.  Too damn long to be alone.  
  
“I’m fine.  I . . .  I’ve been trying to figure out why, all these years.  Why me?  Why was I on that ship and what was so damned important they sent a vampire to retrieve it?  What was the whole point of bringing in Angel and. . .  How come I managed to survive?  The only answers I’ve ever gotten to any of those questions –  Well, I knew why I was on that ship, why I was fighting the Nazis, but everything else?”  Sam looked away, defeat and despair evident in every line of his muscles.  “The only answers I ever got were from you.  And no offense, even they weren’t enough.”  
  
If Spike had any question in his mind that some part of Lawson’s humanity had survived his turning, it was effectively squashed by his last words.  He wouldn’t term it a soul, because he knew demons possessed a twisted version of a soul, but there was something decidedly different about Sam Lawson, something setting him apart from damned near every other vampire out there.  It was enough to cement his decision to give Lawson a chance to work on their side, enough to trust he wouldn’t betray them at the first, or even second, opportunity that presented itself.  At least this way, the others would also have some reassurance, something more than just Spike’s word about Lawson’s intentions.  Even with Giles’ trust in him, he didn’t for one minute believe that trust would extend to another vampire.    
  
“So we’re good then.”  Spike stood in front of the taller man, tension filling his frame.  This was a step he’d never planned on taking, especially after what he’d done, the first and only time he’d sired someone.  Doubts flooded him, although he knew, intellectually, Lawson had already been sired and the change had already occurred; more than likely no other changes would transpire.  And he was giving himself a headache by worrying about it.  Inhaling deeply, pushing aside his momentary doubts, Spike stared at Sam, taking his measure.  “You ready?”  
  
“Aye-aye, Chief.”  There was a twinkle in Lawson’s eye and Spike was hard pressed not to laugh out loud.  The gravity of the situation, though, kept his grin from erupting and he shook his head.    
  
“Knock that off.”   
  
Spike was about to start speaking again when he heard the door snick open behind him and without having to turn around, knew who slid into the room.  Her natural perfume swamped his senses and he turned his head to look over his shoulder to glance at her.  Buffy was just closing the door, a mischievous look on her face, and he couldn’t stop his own grin from answering hers.  
  
“Hey.”  Gracefully, almost gliding across the floor, Buffy crossed the distance between them, her hand catching Spike’s when she reached his side.  
  
“Hullo, love.  Everything all sussed out with the Watchers?”  Ignoring Lawson for the moment, Spike turned his considerable attention to Buffy.  
  
“Yup.  We’re all good.  Faith is all up to speed, she’s got the 411 pretty much on everything.”  Spike brought her hand up, laying a gentle kiss on the back.  “How’s things in here?”  
  
“Jus’ getting to the good part.”   He smirked at her, then simultaneously they faced the other vampire.  
  
“So tell me what you’ve decided.”    
  
“Lawson’s gonna submit to my claim as his sire an’ gonna swear to abide by my rights as his sire.”  An almost imperceptible shrug crossed Spike’s shoulders.  “There’s lots of formal words we could use, could even translate the whole thing into Latin, but there’s no need.  He’s willing an’ that’s all the requirement I need.”  
  
“How do you. . . what do you have to do?”  
  
Spike looked a bit sheepish, which Buffy found both strange and endearing.  He hesitated, searching for the right words.  His voice was low and melodic when he finally started speaking and Buffy found herself dangerously close to getting lost in the sounds, ignoring the words.  His, “pay attention, love,” brought her out of the accidental reverie.  _He could so market meditation tapes.  Or read books for a living._  
  
“Tell me again, just to be sure I get it.”  
  
Spike rolled his eyes, knowing full well she’d hadn’t heard a word of the explanation he’d just given her.  
  
“I bite Sam.  Ask him if he’s submitting to my position as his Sire.  He submits.  I drain him, or nearly so, then let him bite me.”  He paused, watching the play of emotions on her face.  “Him taking Sire’s blood will make him stronger.”  
  
“You’re okay with this?”  Buffy looked up at the other vampire, strangely feeling concern for him.  Being drained, even for a vampire couldn’t be much fun.  
  
Lawson nodded once without any hesitation at all.    
  
“Have we got any human blood in the fridge?”  Spike asked her, rapidly going over their supplies in his head.  Directing his next comments to both of his companions, he said, “We’ll need to have plenty on hand, b’cause he’ll be hungry when we’re all done.”  
  
Buffy wandered over to the fridge, checking the on-hand supply.  “Four bags of O positive and three frozen bags of AB negative.”  
  
“The O positive should be enough.”  Spike faced Lawson, “You sure?”  
  
This time, when Lawson nodded, saying, “Yes, sir.”  Spike let it go.  
  
“Right.  Here goes nothing.”  
  
Without looking at Buffy, Spike stepped forward, his hands firmly around Lawson’s biceps.  Exerting a fair amount of pressure, Spike forced the taller vampire to his knees, murmuring softly under his breath.  He spoke first in Latin, then knowing the other two had no comprehension of the language, he repeated himself in English.  
  
“Do you accept my position as your Sire?  Do you accept my authority as your Master, replacing your original Sire?”  He stared down into Sam’s eyes, waiting for his acquiescence.  Spike morphed into game face, preparing to complete the blood rite.  
  
Sam’s response was strong and sure, consisting of one word.  Spike’s head was angled, fangs embedded in his throat before the sound of Lawson’s “Yes” had died away.


	57. Hymn Before Action

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 57.  Hymn Before Action  
  
You've never lived until you've almost died,   
for those who fought for it,   
life has a flavor the protected will never know.  
    Anonymous, from Viet Nam, 1968  
  
The earth is full of anger,  
The seas are dark with wrath,  
The Nations in their harness  
Go up against our path:  
Ere yet we loose the legions --  
Ere yet we draw the blade,  
Jehovah of the Thunders,  
Lord God of Battles, aid!  
  
High lust and froward bearing,  
Proud heart, rebellious brow --  
Deaf ear and soul uncaring,  
We seek Thy mercy now!  
The sinner that forswore Thee,  
The fool that passed Thee by,  
Our times are known before Thee --  
Lord, grant us strength to die!  
  
For those who kneel beside us  
At altars not Thine own,  
Who lack the lights that guide us,  
Lord, let their faith atone!  
If wrong we did to call them,  
By honour bound they came;  
Let not Thy Wrath befall them,  
But deal to us the blame.  
  
From panic, pride, and terror  
Revenge that knows no rein --  
Light haste and lawless error,  
Protect us yet again,  
Cloke Thou our undeserving,  
Make firm the shuddering breath,  
In silence and unswerving  
To taste Thy lesser death.  
  
Ah, Mary pierced with sorrow,  
Remember, reach and save  
The soul that comes to-morrow  
Before the God that gave!  
Since each was born of woman,  
For each at utter need --  
True comrade and true foeman --  
Madonna, intercede!  
  
E'en now their vanguard gathers,  
E'en now we face the fray --  
As Thou didst help our fathers,  
Help Thou our host to-day.  
Fulfilled of signs and wonders,  
In life, in death made clear --  
Jehovah of the Thunders,  
Lord God of Battles, hear!  
    Rudyard Kipling, Hymn Before Action  
_**  
  
  
The television was on, the sound down very low and the rest of the house was dark when the DeSoto slid into the driveway.  Well past the midnight hour, the time was actually still far enough from daylight that Spike thought about doing a quick patrol before climbing into bed.  He turned to Buffy and, catching both the look on her face and the dark shadows under her eyes, immediately thought better.    
  
 _Hopefully won’t have to worry about it much longer._  
  
“C’mon, love, let’s get you to bed.”  
  
Buffy dropped her head back onto the seat rest, facing him with a sigh.  “Feels like I haven’t slept in weeks.”  
  
“Know what you mean.”  He got out of the car, prepared to go around to her side, when Buffy surprised him by sliding across the seat to follow after him.  His arm curled around her as he kicked the heavy car door shut.  “Looks like demon-girl an’ the whelp are still here.”  
  
“Ah huh.  Hopefully they’ll be asleep on the couch.”  
  
Spike snorted, relenting a bit when she pinched his side.  “Don’t care, so long as neither of them keeps you awake.  An’ if one of them tends to the sprog come the mornin’, well that’ll be a bit of all right.”  
  
As it was, when they slipped inside the doorway, Tara was on her way up the stairs with a sleeping Connor in her arms.  Exchanging whispered hellos, the blond witch added, “There’s ice cream and waffles.”  
  
Buffy whispered a soft yippee, making a beeline for the kitchen, while Spike turned back to secure the locks.  On his way into the kitchen, he passed through the living room, turning off the television and snagging some gingerbread from the Christmas tree.  Anya and Xander, as predicted, were both asleep on the couch, though they weren’t by any stretch of the imagination snuggled together.    
  
He stopped in the doorway, watching Buffy happily stuff herself with warm waffles smothered in jelly and spoonfuls of Ben & Jerry’s.    She was almost grunting with happiness, the smile reaching her eyes, chasing away some of the shadows.  With her mouth chewing away, she waved the spoon at him.  She couldn’t say anything though, and he didn’t bother trying to hold back his chuckle.    
  
“Don’t laugh at me,”  Buffy finally spluttered out.  “I’m hungry and there’s no roller coaster in my belly stopping me from eating.”  
  
“You’re adorable, though.  Look right cute with your cheeks all full of food.”  He sauntered into the kitchen, his fingers snagging the spoon from her.  Digging the utensil in, Spike fed her more ice cream.  “I’m glad you’re eatin’.  Need to do more of it.”  
  
“This is the first time in days I’ve really wanted too.”  A tiny bit of a whine crept into her tone, but Spike ignored it.  He figured she was entitled to a bit of indulgence, because everything had been decidedly bad since Christmas.  Letting her eat in silence, Spike concentrated on giving her what she needed.  Long before he thought she should, Buffy pushed away from the counter.  She leaned against his chest, drawing one of his hands around to rest on her belly.  
  
“Ummmm.   Comfy now.”  Her fingers meshed with his and she sighed.  
  
The kitchen was silent, then as Spike felt her body relax against his, he said softly, “C’mon, kitten, into bed with you.”  
  
He made quick work of putting the food away and piling the dishes in the sink, while Buffy leaned against the wall, sleepily watching him.  
  
Tara padded into the kitchen on bare feet, her quiet voice barely disturbing the silence.  “Leave it, Spike, I’ll get it in the morning.  You guys go ahead.”  
  
With a smile and a nod, Spike caught Buffy around the waist, guiding her down the hallway.    
  
“G’night, Glinda.”  
  
“Night.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
By some unspoken agreement, Faith had followed the two former Watchers to Giles’ car, then trailed behind them into the apartment they were currently sharing.  
  
She was tired – and even more than that, she was beyond confused and overloaded with too much information.  
  
All the crazy Slayer dreams she’d been having hadn’t prepared her for the reality of what had been transpiring in Sunnydale.  _A whole lotta weird shit has been going down.  
_  
The least weird thing was Buffy and Spike.  _The baby thing was trippy, but them as a couple?  Not so much._ Even before the dreams had indicated something was brewing between them, Faith knew it was possible.  Spike’s reaction when she’d hijacked Buffy’s body had been very revealing.  If there was one thing Faith knew, it was when a man was interested.  
  
Angel having a kid was weird.  She’d only seen the baby once, so she had no way of knowing if it even looked like him.  _Losing the soul because of the kid – that was harsh._  
  
She had a feeling though, there were still parts of the story she was missing.  Like why Buffy wasn’t wigged about being knocked up by a vamp – and why Angel was all damage bound on Cordelia.    
  
And Willow.  
  
All that talk about Willow power-tripping on magic and playing god – something had happened there Faith hadn’t ever seen coming.  What had her seriously worried was the way both Giles and Wesley had reacted to her questions about Willow.  
  
There wasn’t much that scared Faith, though the way those two had reacted made her belly flip.  Yeah, she was a Slayer, although she’d been out of commission one way or another for the past three years.  She was rusty, and maybe not ready for the conflicts that were coming to a head.  There was only so much training she could do; training could only help you so much.  Actual slaying time was an altogether different thing.  Really battling for your life against demons that could actually hurt you was far different from prison skirmishes where she always had the advantage.   She’d never really been exposed to much – especially magic stuff.  
  
 _But mousy, scaredy, geeky little Willow becoming all Wicked Witch of the West?_  
  
She was having trouble wrapping her head around Willow changing that much.  
  
Waiting patiently while Giles got sheets and blankets for her to sleep on, Faith decided she would just trust everyone else’s intuition about Willow.  She didn’t have much choice otherwise.  
  
At least until she saw what had become of Willow with her own two eyes.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Lawson had spent years staying away and apart from his fellow vampires, perfecting the art of disappearing into the woodwork.  He used that skill now, avoiding detection by Angel’s minions and slipping easily past lax guards into the mansion.  
  
His room was empty, devoid of any presence or traces of any presence, which he took as a positive sign.  Angel didn’t suspect anything from him, which left him free to operate, able to follow Spike’s instructions to the letter.  Breathing a sigh of relief, Sam settled down onto his bed after locking the door behind him, and propping a chair underneath the knob, just in case.  
  
Contemplating the ceiling, Sam felt the Sire’s blood working through his body, invigorating him in more than just his cells.  Every part of him felt awash in some unnameable, indescribable emotion.  He felt as though he could almost reach out and touch the connection he and Spike had forged between them.  It was very nearly a physical presence in bed beside him and through it, he could feel Spike’s connection to Buffy.  
  
Initially Sam had believed their relationship rested almost solely in the physical.  He could understand their mutual attraction – both were very attractive, sexual beings.  And yet, since watching them, Sam had come to realize the physical aspect was just a little part of the whole.  Discovering the pair was mated caused him no end of confusion.  
  
She was the Slayer – chosen to protect humanity from the darkness Spike represented.  What kind of . . .    She had to have accepted there were varying degrees of evil, of darkness.  Accepted moral ambiguities others had trouble processing or even admitting existed.  
  
He long since came to terms with his own skewed moral compass.  On his own, using Spike’s brief guidance, Sam had decided who became his victims.  While he had to agree with Spike about the blood of teenaged girls, Sam generally avoided them.  Preying on young girls brought unwanted attention – of the sort a lone vampire couldn’t afford.  The only time he’d ever had another vampire watching his back had been those first days with Spike.  So he’d learned very quickly how to hunt prudently, preying mainly on those who wouldn’t be missed.  Stealing old blood from hospitals wasn’t new to him either – he’d done it more than once, when he’d gone too long between feedings.  
  
What he also didn’t understand quite so clearly was Spike’s continual dance with danger.  Sam had quickly learned Spike pushed the limits – with daylight, with fire, with anything and everything that could possibly destroy him.  He’d watched while Spike had, with relative calmness, walked outside during daylight, deliberately ingested garlic and any other number of foolhardy and reckless things – all the while smiling with glee.  His Sire, and how that thought pleased him, lived his unlife on a precarious tightrope – embracing every new challenge, never once backing down.  
  
Reckless abandon.  Unholy glee – daring to live each moment to its utmost.  Sam realized Spike had made more of his unlife than some people ever made of their lives.  
  
A deep sigh broke unnecessarily from his mouth, then a wide grin split his features.  Just maybe, Spike would be able to teach him how to do the same.    
  
Sam stripped down to his skivvies, warmed by Sire’s blood and the connection between them flared as he reflected on Spike’s bite and ruefully noted the effects of it on his cock.  He was hard and aching, yet completely unembarrassed by his reaction.  Spike had to have known what kind of an effect this would cause, and was no doubt acting on it.  Grabbing his cock in his right hand, Sam resettled himself on the bed and arched his tight fist.  His mind wandered to images better left unsaid and he breathed heavily through his mouth, knowing he wasn’t going to last very long.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Just as the sky was lightening, the bright rays of the morning sun streaking the eastern horizon with light, Angelus stalked back inside the mansion, his mood unaltered.  
  
Growling an acknowledgment to his waiting minions, the hulking Irish vampire strode past, intent on gaining the peace and quiet of his own room.  Unwilling to deal with his insane and currently incapacitated Childe, he bypassed the room holding Drusilla, looking instead for less troublesome company.  The recent addition to his household would do nicely.  
  
Angel paused outside one of the bedrooms, sniffing the air intently, trying to find out which bed the blond was sleeping in – and with whom.  Catching her girlish perfume, Angel moved silently in that direction.  Two doors away from the room where Lawson had barricaded himself, Angel pushed open the door and smiled at the scene greeting his eyes.  
  
There she was, on her hands and knees, sucking cock while her pussy was being pounded from behind.  The two males froze once they realized who was watching them, exchanging wary glances.  
  
“Aren’t _you_ the lucky girl.  One night in my house and you’ve already made some new friends.”  Angel’s sarcasm wasn’t hard to miss, and the two males slowly disengaged from the blond girl.  
  
Wide, guileless blue eyes met Angel’s assessing glare, but the fledgling shrugged almost innocently.  “Guess they just wanted to make sure I felt welcomed.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure they did, Harmony.”  Angel stepped further into the room, letting his eyes linger on the naked bodies in front of him.  “They just didn’t bother to check with me first.”  
  
One of them tried to stutter out an apology, which made Angel smile.  “Shut up.”  
  
In the predatory way some females scent out and bait the strongest male, Harmony accurately assessed the master vampire’s interest in her.  Languidly she dropped onto her back, exposing both breasts and shaven pussy to his view.  Her reward was the spark of interest in murky brown eyes.  
  
An answering gleam entered her own and Harmony pressed her advantage by running a pink tipped finger over her glistening folds up to her lips, then sucking on it.  
  
Angel’s grin widened and he growled out, “Leave us.”  
  
The two males scrambled out, giving him a wide berth, neither one daring to glance backward.  
  
“You know, Harmony,” Angel started speaking almost conversationally, “New females are supposed to service the master until he tires of them. . . and doubly so when they’ve already betrayed him once.”  
  
She preened in response, his last words not registering at all, and unaware of the incredible risk she was running, giggled softly.  “But you were busy with Druidzilla . . . And I got bored.”  
  
Angel moved closer, his hand closing over the nearest breast.  “And you still should have waited.  Now I have to punish you.”  
  
Harmony didn’t have the brains to be frightened, focusing only on the sexual aspects of his meaning.    “Ah huh.  Does that mean you’re gonna spank me?”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Someone had snuck in earlier, when Connor’s cries had been heard in the kitchen via Tara’s baby alarm system, leaving the two super powered blonds sleeping.  That was the only explanation Spike could think of, because the baby was nowhere in sight.  He rolled over, his sleep disturbed by some noise from outside, then curled back around Buffy, who hadn’t even reacted.    
  
Noises from downstairs were muffled, though he could still hear the low hum of the dishwasher running and soft female voices talking.  His left hand curled around Buffy’s waist, fingers lightly brushing over her soft skin and Spike nuzzled in closer, his nose buried in the fall of her hair.  He loved these moments, when everything was distant; the call of her responsibilities unimportant and it was just them.  She spent so much of her waking time focused on those obligations that very little of their time together was spent just. . . Relaxing and enjoying the moment.  Fairly often, the only time they had to themselves was between the four walls of this room.    
  
A chilly breeze swept through the open window, billowing the heavy curtains and snaking up over his bare shoulders.  An involuntary shiver wracked his form, and in response he burrowed closer into her warmth, pulling the blanket up to cocoon them both.  Her scent engulfed him, growing stronger as she unconsciously responded to his proximity.  A low murmur sounded in her throat and he brushed back her hair, content to watch her while she continued to sleep.    
  
Peace was something they had precious little of, given their lots in life, and he needed, especially now, to prolong the moments when they grasped a little bit of it.  He didn’t fool himself into thinking they could buy much more than this time, knowing her as well as he did, once she was awake, Buffy was going to focus on what they needed to do to face the threats looming ahead of them.  Right now, Angel was the priority.  Once that was done they had to tackle the growing and seemingly difficult task of corralling Willow.  
  
After that – well, he wasn’t going to think about that yet.  Had to get through each day, each battle and then focus on the after.  There was too much there – Connor, Dawn, and their own sprog’s appearance to fret over.  Dawn was going to need more help than either of them could give her – and it was one of the conditions the doctors hadn’t budged on.  She would be visiting a counselor weekly for the foreseeable future, whether she wanted too or not.  
  
Thankfully, it was their choice who she went to speak too, and the only requirement the authorities had laid on them was that the counselor had to be accredited by the State of California.  Thankfully, they could rely on Tara to find someone who had an understanding of their world – and the necessary paperwork from the government.  
  
Buffy shifted, rolling onto her side, nearly facing him and Spike stared down at her sleeping face.  She was beautiful in repose, her golden skin lit from within and he found his fingers trailing over the small of her back, running over the dips, allowing the sensation of her warmth to invade him.  He leaned down to brush a feathery kiss over her eyes, finding it impossible to stop touching her.    
  
 _God, woman, how beautiful you are . . ._ He inhaled deeply, letting the richness of her scent wash over him again and Spike curled even closer.    Spike didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until Buffy, her eyes still closed, whispered back his name while her fingers scratched across his chest.  
  
“Didn’t mean to wake you.”    
  
“I know.”  She settled further onto her side, eyes barely opened, focused on the movement of his chest as he spoke.  “It’s okay, I was just sort of drifting anyway.”  
  
“Go back to drifting then.”  Her eyes lifted, focusing on his lips and her warm fingers reached up to trace over them.  
  
“Rather watch you.”  Those lips moved, forming a soft smirk and Buffy smiled sleepily back at him.  
  
“Would you now.”  His hand trailed over her side, down along her hip, drawing idle sweeping patterns.  
  
Buffy leaned into him further, her fingers exploring the hard muscles in his arm and down over his shoulder.  “Yup.  You’re a pretty man.”  
  
Growling low in mock anger, he groused, “I’m not pretty, take that back.”  
  
A soft giggle was his only answer.  “You so are, and you know it. “  
  
 ”Am not.”  His hand thumped against her bare ass and she wiggled, teasing him more.    
  
“You are. . .   It’s a good thing you have no reflection, because this way we don’t have to share the mirror.”    
  
It took his sleep and Buffy drugged mind a moment to catch her meaning and when he did he gripped her hip, pulling her hard against him.  “I’m no peacock, kitten.”  
  
“Ah huh.  You sure about that?”  Her soft giggles kept overtaking her and she tried getting out a comment about him being just that, but she couldn’t find her voice.  “You’re a vain man, William, so don’t play like you aren’t.”  
  
A harrumphing noise escaped him, though before he could speak, Buffy kept on teasing him.  “Look at those pretty eyes. . . Those cheekbones.  Face it Spike, you’re a pretty man and you strut and preen just like a peacock, showing off.”  
  
There was laughter in her voice, happiness and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard something like that from her.  Quite possibly it had been during the heady time of their engagement.  Just because it was there, though, didn’t mean he was going to let her comment go unremarked.  
  
Tucking his tongue against his teeth, Spike leered at her, his hand pulling her body closer to his.  “If ‘m such a peacock, how come it takes me less time than you to get ready. . . hhhmmm?”  
  
“Two words, bleach boy.”  She gazed at him, laughter sparking the colors of her eyes and her grin spreading widely.  “No reflection.”  
  
Laughter erupted from her at the look on his face and Buffy couldn’t contain herself any longer.  He was all affronted and embarrassed at the same time and it was just beyond funny to her.  Spike made some grumbling, grumpy noise in his throat that set her off even more and Buffy was having a hard time controlling herself.  Finally the laughter wound down, after she wiped her eyes of the tears, Buffy found herself with a very pouty man on her hands.  Leaning over him, Buffy took hold of his lower lip between her teeth, tugging on it gently.  
  
He growled again, low in his throat, then, in a move faster than she could blink, Spike had her pinned beneath him, his legs curled over hers, locking her in place.  “Who’s laughing now, kitten?”  
  
“Oohhhh, big old scary vampire.”  She faked a shiver, her eyes twinkling up at him.  “Whatcha gonna do, bite me?”  
  
Spike shifted again, settling his hips between hers.  “No.  Gonna do something better.”  
  
“What’s that?”  Buffy tilted her pelvis, capturing his erection between her folds.  She arched against him and his hand clamped around her hip, holding her tight.  
  
His voice, low and deep, reverberated through her, and Buffy flexed around him.  “Gonna ravish you.  Gonna make you scream my name.”  
  
“Mmmmm.   How you gonna do that?”  He moved and his cock slid easily through her slickened walls.  Spike grinned down at her when unintelligible noises escaped her.  
  
“Just like that, baby.”  
  
His thrusts were slow and languid, almost lazy and still they had the power to render her to mush.  It didn’t take long before she was crying out his name, her orgasm washing over her.  Deep, drugging kisses covered her cries and Spike exploded within her.  He rolled over onto his back, cuddling her close.  Her breathing slowed, her heart rate returned to normal and Buffy slipped easily once more into sleep, Spike not far behind her.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Sam waited until he couldn’t hear anyone else moving around, not even the minions guarding the doors.  On quiet feet he slipped silently from his room down the stairs to the boiler room.  
  
Working quickly, he rigged a homemade, untraceable bomb, using the pilot lights for the oil burner and hot water heaters, triggered for when the hot water heater ignited.  
  
He stepped back, eyeing his handiwork, then, satisfied it was virtually undetectable to the untrained eye, he headed back to his room.  
  
Grabbing his meager belongings, Sam Lawson slipped out the shaded side entrance, racing for the nearest sewer grate.  
  
Daring a glance backward, Sam fought a laugh.  
  
Two hours until sundown.  
  
And counting.


	58. Planning is indispensible

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 58  Planning is indispensible  
  
In a battle all you need to make you fight   
is a little hot blood and the knowledge   
that it’s more dangerous to lose than to win.  
    George Bernard Shaw, The Statue, in Man and Superman, act 3  
  
The surprise is half the battle.   
Many things are half the battle,   
losing is half the battle.   
Let’s think about what’s the whole battle.   
    David Mamet and Brian DePalma, The Untouchables, 1987  
  
In preparing for battle   
I have always found that plans are useless,   
but planning is indispensable.   
    Dwight D. Eisenhower, quoted by Richard Nixon in “Krushchev,” Six Crises, 1962  
_**  
  
  
  
This was not the first time they’d faced Angelus, and though numbers appeared to be in his favor, Spike had assured them Lawson would come through with his end of things.  
  
So when an oddly out of breath Lawson barreled through the shop door, under a slightly smoldering blanket, sometime around three in the afternoon, only the customers did a double take.  Giles, Oz and Wesley, who were honing weapons in the back, didn’t even know he’d arrived until Anya’s shriek echoed through the showroom.  
  
“Are you crazy? Stomp out that blanket away from the highly flammable and explosive merchandise.”  
  
Wesley merely raised an eyebrow, leaving it for Giles to go see what was causing a ruckus out front.  The two men shared a look, then went back to the weapons.  Faith was thumping away at the bag, while the bot waited in the corner.  Explaining the Buffybot to Faith had been difficult, although her only comment, “So he had a full service blow-up doll built,” had Giles spluttering momentarily.  
  
Anya had grabbed Lawson by the arm, almost dragging him to the back of the shop, muttering dire imprecations under her breath the whole time.  She stopped short, letting go of the very surprised vampire at Giles’ appearance.  “Could someone have given him a map of the tunnels?  One that was enchanted to show him exactly how to get here without setting himself and my merchandise on fire?”  
  
“Your merchandise?”  Giles chose to ignore the rest of her diatribe, knowing full well that was merely her way of venting her nerves.  
  
“Really, Giles, is that all you were paying attention to?  You know very well it’s our merchandise.”  Anya huffed at him, folding her arms over her chest.  
  
“Indeed.”  He stared down at her flushed face, a small grin playing about his lips and a twinkle in his eyes.  “I was in fact paying close attention.  Perhaps we can work on creating such a map later, after we’re done with Angel.”  
  
Unsure whether Rupert was patronizing her or not, Anya’s aggravation had no further outlet.  “Fine.”  
  
The bell over the door sounded, rescuing her from more humiliation and she practically stomped off, a false smile plastered on her features.  
  
“Interesting woman.”  Giles shifted his attention to Lawson, who then asked innocently, “She your wife?”  
  
“What?  No. . .  No, Anya is merely an employee.  She’s an ex-vengeance demon.”  Quickly changing the subject, Giles hustled Lawson into the training room.  
  
Sam stared at the Englishman, wondering how his impression could have been so wrong.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Late afternoon shadows diffused the sunlight sneaking past her curtains when Willow finally came to.  
  
Her head was all fuzzy, the ends of her hair singed and small blisters bloomed on the fingers of her right hand.  Numbness spread up her arm, past her elbow and her shoulder was sore, as if she’d landed on it heavily after a fall.  
  
The distinct smell of fried wiring and over used electricity pervaded her room and as she rolled to her side, Willow saw the evidence of small fires all about her bedroom.  Every electrical outlet, light fixture and electronic device was covered lightly with splotches of black soot, and her alarm clock had stopped dead.  
  
Her mouth was gritty and when she brushed a hand over her face, Willow discovered she’d had a nosebleed.  
  
 _What in the name of Hecate. . ._  
  
The last thing she remembered was searching for the translation of the ensouling curse.  Pushing herself up, Willow tried clearing her head.  She felt like she was wound in cotton batting or stuck underwater and she couldn’t hear anything because her ears were ringing.  Swallowing hard, Willow tried to pop her ears, to no avail.  
  
Gingerly she climbed off her bed and on very wobbly legs, she headed for the bathroom.  Not daring a look in the mirror, Willow turned on the taps.  Barely stepping out of her clothing, she turned on the shower jets and slumped to her knees.  
  
 _Just need to get clean and some food and then I’ll figure out what happened._   The hot water stung her flesh, just like when she’d gotten a really bad sunburn, making her feel worse.  _Ouchies .. .    This hurts.  
  
Don’t wanna think . . .  Need to get myself together . . .  think Willow . . .  what’s the last thing . . .  Oh!  
_  
The memory of finding the notes and the translation flashed through her head, although she still couldn’t figure out what had triggered the blackout or the fires.  
  
 _Did I do something?  Try the curse . . .  Or what?_  
  
She had no memory after finding the notes, nothing there but fuzzy blankness.  Willow stayed under the stinging water a long time, until her skin was waterlogged and wrinkly.  
  
Though she still had no answers.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
For now, Tara was staying at the house, with newly reinforced wards, watching Dawn and Connor.  Once the sun went down, though, Anya would be settling in; both girls prepared to spend the night and guard the two noncombatants.  
  
Buffy was lacing up her boots, while Spike checked weapons, when a thought occurred to her.  “You know, when things settle down a bit, we should teach Dawnie how to protect herself.”  
  
Spike peered at her from his spot by the Christmas tree, a double-headed axe in his hands.  “Been thinking that might not be a bad idea.”  He paused, reaching for a wicked looking knife.  “Might be best for all of them.”  
  
“All of them?”  She stood up, tucking extra stakes inside her boots, then snagging her own dagger.  
  
“All the wee ones.”  Spike tossed her a short sword, keeping the axe for himself.  “Soon as they can walk, we should start teachin’ them self defense an’ whatnot.”  
  
Buffy stared at him, a strange look on her face, not saying anything for long minutes, Kirsten’s words about how her father had taught her how to fight crossing her mind.  Spike wasn’t paying attention until he moved away from the weapons bag.  “Wha?”  
  
She shook her head.  “That’s really . . . all parenty of you.”  
  
It was his turn to stare at her.  Their eyes met and locked, neither one looking away.    
  
“It’s what we are, innit?”  
  
“I think it just kinda hit me, you know?  We’ve got kids.  Okay, so Dawnie’s already full grown and Connor’s not really ours but . . .   We’re parents.”  A funny look crossed her face and she blurted out, “I’m not sure I’m ready for all this.”  
  
With a shake of his head, Spike reached for her hand.  “You aren’t doing it alone.  We’ll manage somehow.”  Raising her hand to his lips, Spike pressed a kiss into her palm.  “Can’t be much harder than controlling minions.”  
  
Purposefully ignoring his comment about minions, Buffy changed the subject slightly.  “Spike?  I’m not giving him up.  Connor’s ours too, right?”  
  
He squeezed her hand.  “Too right.  Boy stays with us.”  
  
Neither one mentioned, though both were thinking along the same lines, that Angel without a soul couldn’t be trusted with a kitten, much less an infant.  Even if it was his flesh and blood.  
  
Not that either of them expected him to survive the coming confrontation.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Though his body had been completely engaged while he’d been systematically fucking and teaching Harmony a lesson, Angel’s mind had been fixed on other pursuits, mainly how to finally get back at Buffy and her pathetic sidekick.  
  
He had the basics of a plan, and as he pounded into Harmony, he decided simplicity was best.  
  
Instead of worrying about everything, he was going to concentrate on his problems one at a time.  There was nothing he could do about Jenner and Willow was, for now, not an issue.  First thing he needed to do was get rid of Buffy and Spike.  Then he could worry about Willow.  
  
Landing a harsh slap on Harmony’s sore ass, Angel picked up his clothes and stalked from the room.  
  
Time to get things moving.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Despite Anya’s protests about lost revenue, Giles closed the shop at half past four, just after Buffy and Spike’s arrival.  
  
When Xander got to the shop a few moments later, Giles insisted it was time for Anya to go.  She balked, not relenting until Spike pulled her aside.  
  
“Anya.”  He motioned her away from the others, toward the area where divination supplies were kept.  “You can still get to Arashmahaar if you need to, yeah?”  
  
“Of course I can.  I was one of D’Hoffryn’s favorites.”  She peered up at him, a perky grin on her face, preening under his attention.  “Wait.  Why do you want to know that?”  
  
“Coz, if anythin’ goes wrong, will you be able to get Niblet an’ the sprog out of here?”  
  
She pondered his question seriously, wringing her hands together.  “I don’t know.  You might have to pay a price.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m aware of that, just need to know if everythin’ goes pear shaped tonight, the kiddies’ll be safe somewhere.”  His look was grim and she realized he was deadly serious.  
  
“Sure, I can do it.”  
  
Spike nodded, saying, “That’s why I need you to go.”  
  
Anya glared at him, slapping his arm at the same time.  “Not fair, how you got me to agree to leave, Spike.”  
  
“All’s fair in love and war, pet.  Now go watch the kiddies with Glinda.”  
  
She flounced off, grabbing Xander and her purse in the same motion, tugging him to the door. “Come on, Xander.  Let’s go.”  
  
Buffy smiled after her, having heard exactly how Spike maneuvered Anya into doing precisely what he wanted.  
  
“So how are we gonna know if Lawson’s thingy worked?”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“I used to hate you.  You do know that.”  Dawn stared down at the sleepy baby, who was tucked up against her side.  Connor returned her stare calmly, as if he understood exactly what was going on in her head.  “I probably should still hate you, since all this is pretty much your fault.”  
  
Connor grabbed hold of her hand, lifting her fingers to his mouth and gumming whatever he could get his jaws around.  Anger and self-loathing filled her and Dawn tried pulling her hand away from him.  The baby had other ideas, though, because he held on tightly and Dawn gave up, letting him keep her fingers as a chew toy.  
  
“But it’s not really your fault.  At least that’s what Wesley says.”  Pitching her voice lower and affecting a cultured British accent, Dawn said, “You aren’t responsible for other people’s reactions.”  Lapsing back into her own voice, she continued, “I’m not sure I buy that, coz’ it’s not like you did anything but be born.  So how could all this mess be your fault?”  
  
Dawn had no idea why Tara had dumped the baby in here with her, because she was utterly useless at the moment.  At best, she could just sit and watch him, she couldn’t get up and help him if something happened.  _Couldn’t Tara have just left me alone?  Anything’s better than being stuck here with Sir Gums-A-Lot.  
_  
His giggle caught her by surprise and Dawn stared down into his blue eyes.  “What’s so funny?  There’s nothing to laugh or even smile about, don’t you get that?  Your father’s a homicidal vampire, who decided he needed to chew on me and my boy . . .”   She inhaled deeply, feeling the stab of pain streak through her.  “Your father decided he . . .”  
  
Big, fat splotchy tears rolled down her cheeks and the lump in her throat threatened to choke her.  Dawn pulled her hand forcefully away from Connor’s hold, unwilling to touch Angel’s child.  Connor looked at her, a frown forming on his face, then rolled over to his belly.  Turning her face away from him, Dawn let the tears come, unable to hold them back.  _I hate him . . .  I hate him.  He needs to fry in hell again for another hundred years.  Always.  I hate him._  
  
She wanted to shriek, wanted to get up and beat something, stomp it into the ground and just never, ever stop; but the pain cresting through her with each sob kept her grief silent, contained.  Her hands fisted at her side in an attempt to keep herself from touching Connor, from striking out at him.  It was a near thing, and Dawn kept her jaw clenched tightly, eyes screwed shut.    
  
She cried, for how long she didn’t know, until the feel of tiny fingers pulling on her face and rapid breathing broke through the angry grief.  Dawn lifted her hand, starting to push Connor away from her, when she dared a peek.  
  
He had crawled up on her pillow, his fat little belly up against her shoulder, hands reaching for her face and was just lying there looking at her.  “Why can’t you just go away?  Why?  Why did you have to be born? Coz my life needed to be even more miserable?”  
  
Their faces were inches apart and all Connor did was smile at her.    
  
Dawn heaved out a sob, feeling the broken edges of her ribs grind against each other, and everything went black for a few seconds.    
  
When her vision cleared, Connor was still there, staring at her, his baby eyes watching her carefully.  Once her eyes fluttered open, his closed, almost in relief and Dawn realized something in that moment.  
  
If she was truly evil, like Glory had claimed, she would have hurt Connor.  Slapped him, pushed him from the bed, something . . .     
  
 _Anything._    
  
He was completely helpless lying there next to her.  He wasn’t doing anything except just breathing and, well, being.  He’d even innocently chewed on her fingers while she thought about hurting him.  But she hadn’t done any of those things.  Hadn’t acted on her anger.  
  
She knew it was wrong to take it out on him.  
  
 _It wasn’t his fault._  
  
The things his father did weren’t because of Connor or his birth.  Or even her.  Angel did those things because he was a sick, sadistic bastard who didn’t know right from wrong or care about anyone except himself.  
  
Not even Spike, in his worst moments of grief or anger had ever raised a hand to her.  Oh, he’d threatened, and she’d learned to walk very carefully when he was enraged, but he’d never done it.  Even in his unchipped state, he’d never done it.  Dawn stared at the small baby lying beside her.  _If all vampires are evil – how come Spike can do that?  
  
And if I’m supposed to be evil, it shouldn’t matter to me that Connor can’t protect himself.  Except it does.  I don’t really want to hurt him.  I want to get back at Angel.  Does that make me evil? _Thinking about it for a moment, Dawn decided no, wanting revenge didn’t necessarily make her evil, just made her angry.  
  
Dawn tried rolling a bit to her side, so she could face Connor, but the pain forced her to stay on her back.  Instead she kept her face angled so she could look at him.  Her tears had dried up, and she reached her hand up to still his squirming legs.  “Hey, little man, think you could chill on the trying to walk thing for a little while?”  
  
Running her finger up the bottom of his foot, Dawn almost smiled when he starting laughing.  She kept doing it, just listening to the sounds of his baby laughter, letting her mind stay blank.    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Instead of sleeping, Jenner was pacing the length of his bedroom, occasionally looking out over the docks lining Sunnydale’s harbor.  His mind kept replaying the conversation with Spike from the night before, and there was some niggling sense of reticence on the part of William.  He still didn’t understand what had driven Spike to side with the Slayer against his own kind – and not just his own kind, but family.  
  
Family consisting of Angel and Drusilla.  He could almost understand betraying Angel, hell, on more than one occasion he’d wanted to dust the arrogant prick himself.  Drusilla, though, was another matter altogether.  Whatever had happened to drive William from her side had to have been life changing.  In fact, it had to have been more than just that.  The William he had known over the years would never have strayed long enough to fall in love with another vampire, much less a human.    
  
And for William to have fallen for a Slayer . . .    
  
Now _that_ attraction Jenner could finally understand.  It had been years since he’d laid eyes on a Slayer, well over a hundred.  When London’s Hellmouth had been active – way back in the late 1870s to just before the turn of the century, the Slayers had been located there.  He’d come into contact with more than one during those years and while he acknowledged their obvious physical charms – not one of them moved him the way the dark-haired Slayer did.  
  
 _Faith.  
  
Her name is Faith._  
  
A smile crossed his features and Jenner saw her as she’d looked the night before, all tensed and poised with anticipation.  His hands had itched with the need to touch her, but he’d held back, for once in his long existence uncertain of his reception with a female.  The only other time he’d had a momentary twinge had been when he’d been turned.  Darla had caught him just before a voyage, and he’d already said his goodbyes to his family – his wife and children.    
  
Susanna had loved him, genuinely mourned for him, going on as best she could.  When he’d finally gone back to their home to see her, she’d looked so sad he’d actually approached her.  She’d loved him enough to accept him back, even after learning what he’d become – and he’d never once betrayed her.  Drank from her, yes, he’d done that.  Though they’d both known he couldn’t stay with her, not until she aged and died.  His unchanging nature prevented that.  He vaguely remembered worrying about her reaction when he’d told her what had happened – what he’d become.  Although Susanna hadn’t been unaware of the darker side of life, neither had she been completely ignorant of magic and the other realms.    
  
Faith reminded him of Susanna.  
  
Their eyes were the same; dark, mysterious, and deep.  
  
Otherwise, they were nothing alike.  He couldn’t picture Faith with a houseful of children, or tending the farm animals.  Or doctoring the sick.  
  
He could, though, picture Faith dancing amid the flames of a Beltaine fire, or conjuring spirits, seeking answers from other realms.    
  
So maybe Faith did have more in common with Susanna than he’d thought.  
  
His attention was diverted from thoughts of Faith when Hawkins knocked on the bedroom door, then flung it open.  
  
“Glynnis is gone.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Done with his shower, Angel drifted back into the master suite, determined to get Drusilla back to coherency.  If Ray and the others had gotten the right sedatives, she would still be sleeping.  Hopefully the undisturbed rest would give his blood time to work, so instead of a liability he could little afford, she would be the asset he needed her to be.  
  
She was unshackled, curled up in the middle of the bed, soundly asleep.  Her dark hair snaked over the linens, partially shielding her face from his view.  Angel sat on the bed next to her, his fingers trailing up her arm to her shoulder.  He shook her, softly calling her name.  Sometimes, when the madness was upon her and she finally slept, waking her this way helped her make the transition into lucidity.  Sometimes.    
  
Sleepy dark blue eyes looked up at him and Angel realized they’d been open while he’d sat woolgathering and he smiled down at her.  “Time to get up, Dru.”  
  
“Are we going to play today?”  Her voice was childishly sweet, making him instantly hard.  “What are we going to play, Daddy?  Shall it be a tea party for all the pretty girls?”  
  
Despite the words, Angel could clearly see Drusilla was back in control of herself.  “We are going to play.  Time to get serious with the Slayer.”  
  
Drusilla curled her feet under her, rising up to wind her arms around Angel’s neck.  “Oohhhhh . . .    What nasty thing has Daddy planned for the bad little girl?”  
  
“I’m tired of this, Dru.  We’re going to do what I should have done a long time ago.  We’re going to pay a visit.”  His hands curled around Dru’s thin arms, holding her against him.  “Once we’re done there, I’m going to seek out a witch.”  
  
Her head ducked down against his neck, Drusilla growled playfully, then giggled.  “Mmm . . .  is Daddy going to let his little girl play?”  
  
“That’s exactly why I woke you up, Dru.  I want you beside me.”  
  
Clapping her hands, Drusilla uncurled from around him and got to her feet.  “I do so love a party.”  
  
Throwing his head back, Angel laughed at her expression.  “I’ll be outside, giving the minions their orders.  Don’t be waste any time Dru, I want to be in place before long.”  
  
Humming softly to herself, Drusilla just nodded her understanding, then headed into the bathroom.    
Angel did just as he said he would, giving his minions orders in preparation for the upcoming fight.  Harmony flounced into the hallway just as he was starting, her eyes narrowed and focused.  “I want to help.”  
  
“And why is that, Harmony?”  
  
“Because. . .  Spikey was mean to me and he threw me out of his crypt.  He’s not really a nice boyfriend.  He’s such a freak for being with the Slayer.”  
  
He was about to voice a retort when another voice sounded from behind him.    
  
“I want to help too.”  
  
Looking over his shoulder, Angel gave the newcomer a feral smile.  “Well, hello, Glynnis . . .   What brings you here?”


	59. More dangerous to lose

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter 59.  More dangerous to lose  
  
Tell me what is right and I will fight for it.   
    Woodrow Wilson, Woodrow Wilson and World Settlement, vol. 1, p. 113.   
  
In a battle all you need to make you fight   
is a little hot blood and the knowledge   
that it’s more dangerous to lose than to win.  
    George Bernard Shaw, The Statue, in Man and Superman, act 3.  
  
Know your enemy as you know yourself   
and you can fight a hundred battles   
with no danger of defeat.   
    Chinese proverb.**_  
  
  
  
  
  
“What do you mean she’s gone?”  Jenner paused at the foot of his bed, eyes on Hawkins.  
  
“She was gone when I woke up.”  He shrugged, “Hell, I’m not even sure she actually slept.  At some point she was in the bed with me, but . . .” Hawkins let his voice trail off.  
  
“Fuck.”  He slammed the dirty clothing down.  “I was concerned about this.  She wasn’t very happy with my decision.”  
  
“Glynnis knew it was a possibility.  Given a choice between Spike and Angelus?  We all know how you feel about the paddy.”  
  
“And still she left.”  
  
Hawkins had to concede the point.  “She did.”  
  
Thinking quickly, Jenner realized he had two choices: he could ignore the situation and pretend ignorance when Spike found out, or he could warn him, let the consequences be on Glynnis.  And if he chose to warn Spike – he’d have to send Hawkins.  
  
“Fucking bull-headed bitch.”  Hawkins waited, wondering which way Jenner was going to play this.  “Blasted twice damned . . .   Go.  Tell him she’s gone.”  
  
Hawkins headed for the door, only stopping when Jenner’s low-voiced comment reached his ears.  “If you find her first, bring her back, because if Spike finds her, she’s dust.”  
  
“She made her choice.”  
  
The only sound to mark their conversation was the closing of the bedroom door.  Jenner paused, trying to rein in his temper, then roared, throwing a shoe through the closed door.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
They weren’t half a block away when Xander, with his eyes focused on the road, tersely asked, “So what did the bleached wonder want?”  
  
“Spike wanted to know if I could still get to Arashmahaar.”  
  
If anything, Xander’s muscles tensed further.  “Why did he want to know that?”  
  
“Because he’s worried about Dawn and the baby.  He wants to make sure they’ll be safe if something bad happens.”  Anya’s tone of voice sharpened the longer she spoke and she looked at him closely.  “He’s worried.”  
  
“Please, he’s only worried because if something happens to Dawn, Buffy will toss him out.”  
  
“That’s really getting old, Xander.”  Anya folded her arms and looked away.  “And Buffy won’t do that.”  
  
“Course she will.”  
  
“No, Xander, she won’t.  Buffy wouldn’t because she loves Spike and she’d be lost without her mate.”  
  
Xander slammed on the brakes, and the car jerked to a stop, throwing them both forward.  Anya’s shriek of surprise filled the air and he winced, flinching away from her.  
  
“Her what?”  A muscle ticked in his jaw.  
  
“Buffy and Spike claimed each other.  They’re mated, and I thought you knew this?”  
  
“No, I didn’t know this.  How could she do that?  He’s a soulless demon and once that chip’s out he’s gonna kill her in bed.”  
  
“Spike _can’t_ do that.  He can’t cause harm to Buffy any more than she could hurt him.  Besides, he loves her with his whole heart.”  She muttered something else under her breath Xander couldn’t catch.  
  
“He has no heart.”  
  
“Yes he does, it just doesn’t beat.”  Done with this conversation, knowing nothing she could say to Xander would change his mind, Anya spoke again, “Are you going to drive me to Buffy’s or should I get out and walk?”  
  
Xander couldn’t wrap his head around the things he’d just discovered.  Anya’s information sharing had disgusted him.  _What the hell is Buffy thinking?_  
  
Anya got out of the car, leaving Xander to sit and stew on his own.  It wasn’t a far walk, and right now, she’d rather be away from Xander.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“I would imagine the explosion would attract a fair amount of attention from both the police and fire departments,” was Giles’ rather dry response to Buffy’s question.  “That is, provided the device actually works.”  
  
Lawson spoke before he thought.  “It’ll go off.  I used the oil burner and the hot water heater to create the triggering device.  Shouldn’t be long.”  
  
Giles raised a brow, silently questioning Lawson’s ability to rig something so complicated.  Spike caught the look and explained, “Sailor boy was an engineer before Peaches drained ‘im.”  
  
The older Englishman looked genuinely relieved.  “Well then it’s fair to say we should hear sirens shortly.”  
  
Changing the subject, Spike asked, “How’re we set for weapons?”  
  
It was Wesley who answered, “All the crossbows are loaded.  Anya also filled the water pistols with holy water, and she took some with her to the house.  The swords and daggers are all sharpened and Faith’s been warming up in the training room.  I do believe we’re as ready as we can be.”  
  
“Okay then, let’s go.”  
  
“Are we not waiting for the explosion?”  Giles looked from Buffy to Spike, who just inclined his head toward the older Slayer.  
  
“I wanna be in position before, so we can get them in case some of them manage to survive.”  
  
Wesley had called Faith in, and she’d heard the tail end of Buffy’s response.  “Bout time.”  
  
“Buffy, what about Angel?”  
  
Wesley’s question stopped them all in their tracks and before she spoke, Buffy shared a look with Spike.  “We don’t have the curse, only Willow does.  I don’t see her giving us a copy of it.”   She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before she finished talking.  “I don’t think we’re getting the nice version back anytime soon.  If you can disable him, great.  If all you can do is dust him?  Do it.”  
  
None of them, save Lawson, ever expected to hear those words from Buffy.  Not with such finality, without any emotion.  There was no hesitation, no doubt.  
  
Giles stared at her for a moment, grim thoughts going through his head.  As far as he was concerned, Angel had been on borrowed time for years.  Since Acathla.  Since _Jenny_.  
  
Spike was the only one really unsurprised by her announcement.  They’d talked about it once or twice since Connor’s birth, and she’d always agreed with him.  Now, armed with the knowledge Kirsten had given them, Buffy’s resolve had strengthened.  
  
Angel had tried to kill Dawn.    
  
Had come very close to succeeding.  Too close  
  
There would be no more free passes.  
  
Buffy was speaking again.  “If you can get a clear shot, take it, but no crazy stunts to try and get to him, okay?”  She paused, waiting for that to sink in.  “The same goes for Drusilla.  No craziness and don’t look into her eyes.”  
  
With a last look at all of them, Buffy headed for the door.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Completely dressed, Willow moved through her room, preparing everything she needed to perform the ensouling spell.  _I just have to show them.  Prove to Tara and Buffy that I’m not. . . that I can fix all this._  
  
Glancing out the window, Willow gauged the time.  _It’s still early, so Buffy won’t be out patrolling.  
_  
Stuffing everything she needed into a backpack, Willow debated about going to the Magic Box first or going straight to Revello Drive.  
  
 _Giles will still be at the shop.  Really don’t wanna face him.  So I should probably just head straight for Buffy’s._   Making a face, Willow paused in her packing.  _Bleah . . .   Spike will be there.  Oh, but he can’t hurt me, coz, human, so I’m safe from him and he doesn’t know magic either.  
_  
Fighting malicious laughter, Willow headed down the stairs.  _Okie dokie. . . on to Buffy’s._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Dodging the waning sunlight, Hawkins made his way quickly toward Angel’s mansion. He’d already checked with the rest of Jenner’s troops, hoping Glynnis had just been peeved and not enraged enough to go to Angel.  
  
Unfortunately, it was as he figured.  Glynnis hadn’t been seen by any of the others since the early morning, when Paulie had gone to bed.  She’d been none too happy on their return, grumbling all the while and outright questioning Jenner’s decision.  While he wasn’t totally thrilled with Jenner’s choice, he understood it all too well.  
  
Hawkins had been with Jenner a long time, nearly one hundred years and he’d had more than enough time to learn about the internecine politics of the Aurelius order.  Jenner and Angelus were the eldest, now that both Darla and the Master were dust, and there was absolutely no love lost between them.  
  
Angelus had tried more than once flaunting his position as a favorite of Darla’s; while Jenner had avoided the slut for years.  Jenner had put down roots in Plymouth, controlling vampire activity in western England for years, keeping a tight lid on hunting and number of turnings.  On the other hand, Angelus made a habit of killing indiscriminately, wreaking utter destruction in a place, before having to flee for his unlife, usually with his traveling companions barely escaping vengeful mobs.  
  
He was sloppy and severely deficient in the intelligence department.  According to Jenner, Angelus had tried blaming the lack of foresight on his new fledglings the last time they’d met, though Jenner knew otherwise.  Yeah, Drusilla was a liability, but her shortcomings were more than compensated for by the other – William.  
  
The only real complaint Jenner had ever voiced about William – Spike – was that he always came out on top.  Always managed to survive and had an uncanny knack of picking the winner.  His cocky arrogance was annoying, his short temper sometimes a liability along with his almost complete lack of patience, though that was offset by his daring, lack of fear, and incredible intelligence.   
  
Hawkins shook his head.  He wasn’t supposed to be lost in thought about William, or Angelus.  He was supposed to be looking for Glynnis.  
  
And if he didn’t find her soon . . .   
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Angel was questioning Glynnis, waiting for Drusilla to arrive when the low hum signaling the automatic start of the hot water heater kicked on.  The heater hesitated, lurched, and fired.  Two lights flared, then went dark.  A low subsonic whistle sounded, too low for even the vampires to hear and a small fireball formed between the gas hot water heater and the pilot light.  
  
The same thing happened with the oil burner.  
  
Another subsonic noise sounded, this one more of a pop and suddenly, the small fireballs erupted into huge gouts of flame, fed by the natural gas fueling the hot water heater.  
  
That flame joined with the one flickering on the outside of the oil burner.  
  
More flames licked the sides of the gas tank, heating the metal; ran up the smaller fuel lines feeding into the house and exploded in a huge fireball rocking the foundation.  
  
Fire surged up through the narrow stairway to the first floor, where it consumed everything flammable.  
  
Including vampires.  
  
The smell triggered the alarm for Angel, just seconds before the basement erupted.  Yelling for everyone to get out and follow their orders, Angel pushed Glynnis and Harmony toward an exit and ran toward his room.  
  
“Drusilla!  Run now!”  
  
Vampires scrambled about, vying with each other to get to any exit.  Still bellowing for Drusilla, Angel kicked in the door to their room, grabbing whatever clothes were handiest, sprinting to the bathroom.  
  
Smoke was billowing through the rooms, and the sound of flames crackling and snapping were growing closer.  Drusilla was in the bathroom, just stepping out of the shower.  “Let’s go, Dru.”  
  
Grabbing her wrist, Angel practically dragged her out, barely pausing to pass her the clothing in his hand.  
  
She whined at him, scrabbling at his wrist to get him to let her go.  “I’m all wet, Daddy.”  
  
He vamped, growling at her.  “You’ll be dust, if you don’t move it.  House is on fire, Dru, so get going.”  
  
Snagging boots and scrambling into her dress, she raced after him.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Willow stared at the house from across the street, the almost visible wards and shields shimmering in the air around it, barring her from even entering the yard.  This was something she should have expected, should have been prepared for, she should have _known_ there would be wards and shields.  And yet she was confounded by them.    
  
Not confounded in the sense she couldn’t break them, but more in the fact they existed against her.  Buffy, and obviously Tara had conspired against her, blocking her entry to the house where she’d spent quite a bit of her teenaged years, a place where she’d felt more at home than the one she’d grown up in.  And now she was locked out.    
  
In some small, quiet part of her, she was devastated by this; but the hurt and disappointment were such tiny parts, so she squashed those emotions like bugs beneath her feet.  _This is so not gonna slow me down, not even just a little bit.  Think they can keep me out. . . not if I really want in, they can’t._  
  
Testing the strength of the shields, Willow raised her right hand, shooting a small flare of power toward it.  The power manifested as a ray of bluish light, which dissipated along the shield and changed color, to a murky blue-brown.  Willow followed the path of the flares, noting idly they fractured like a spider’s web, lines bisecting and crossing.  She watched as the cracks repaired themselves, moving from the outer edges inward, leaving no traces of weakness behind.    
  
 _Ooooh, someone’s gotten better and smarter. . . wonder who that is?   Oh, Tara, do you really think you can keep me out if I want in?_  
  
Stepping onto the pavement, Willow moved closer, her right arm raised chest high.  Power built with each step, flowing through her, building with each heartbeat.  She met no resistance until she hit the opposite sidewalk, the one directly in front of the house and Willow laid her palm against the almost invisible barrier, feeling the crackle and hiss of energy pulsing through her.  Pursing her lips, Willow pressed inward, letting the power crest and build with each crackle.  The shields held, resisting her efforts to break through, and she pushed harder, leaning heavily against the invisible barrier.  Light flared and snapped, the smell of crisp ozone filling her nostrils.    
  
The spider-web lines formed, growing slowly, and Willow reached out her left hand.  The lines groaned, sparked, almost crystalizing the shield beneath the pressure.  A small smile crossed Willow’s lips and the barrier cracked, shattering into a million pieces.  
  
With a smug grin, Willow walked to the front door, only to be thrown back at the front porch by a second ring of shielding.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Tara opened the door to Dawn’s bedroom, after listening outside for a moment or two.  Having heard nothing, she braved the possible wrath of an irate teenager.  Instead she found was exactly what she’d hoped for; Dawn and Connor were on the bed, asleep.  Connor was tucked up against Dawn’s shoulder, her hand resting protectively over his diapered hip and one of his hands was fisted in her hair, the other stuck in his mouth.  They were so adorable, she couldn’t stop the soft sigh, nor the smile blooming on her face.  
  
 _Mission accomplished . . ._    
  
She tiptoed to the side of the bed, pulling a light cotton blanket up over the two of them, dropping a light kiss on both foreheads.    
 _  
There’s nothing like a baby to show you what unconditional love really is._    
  
Sure, Dawn was going to need lots of time, caring and attention, not to mention loads of love, yet despite all that Tara had high hopes for her recovery.  The damage wasn’t irreparable, not even the hateful things Glory had spouted would mean anything, given enough time.  She’d read the girl’s aura on more than one occasion, and while there were traces of darkness present, those weren’t any more prevalent than the ones in Buffy or Anya.  There were demonic traces in each of their auras, and yet none of that prevented them from being a good person.  It just gave them an extra something that could be either positive or negative; though just like everyone else, those virtues depended on the person.  Blood didn’t make you good or bad, it just made you living.  Dawn had yet to really understand that.  Maybe, though, just maybe, Tara had helped her to begin to see.  Connor carried Angel’s and Darla’s blood – just as she carried Buffy’s and Spike’s.    Neither of them was evil.    
  
Tara was about to leave the room when the first clarion alarm sounded, piercing the late afternoon quiet.  She stumbled away quickly, shutting the door quietly behind her, then resetting and adding new wards for the room.    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Reeling back as if stung, Willow landed hard on her ass, legs sprawled out in front of her.  _What in the name of Hades was that?  
  
Ouch . . . dang that hurt._  
  
Getting carefully to her feet, Willow reached out her senses as she rubbed her right hand over the smarting area.  This shield had a completely different feel to it, and she knew it was going to take a little bit more effort on her part to get through it.  _Not like I can’t though, with enough time._  
  
She would have thought by now, someone would have come to the door to see what was going on, but no one had.  _Maybe no one’s home?_  
  
Like she had done just a few minutes earlier, Willow called the power forth and sent a bluish light arcing from her hand to the outer edges of the shield.  Unlike last time, no cracks appeared and although the light flared on contact, it didn’t change color or dissipate along the shield.  Instead, the shield itself seemed to absorb the energy, sucking it in, changing color and texture.  The shield had a greyish tinge to it, though at first it had appeared like a dome over the house, now it was squared off to follow the house’s contours.  
  
 _Hhhhmmm, okay so that won’t work. . .   Gonna have to figure out something else . .  Willow shifted her weight, pondering her options.  Allrighty then, this is a bit tricky . . ._  
  
Trying a second time, Willow sent a wave of pulsing power at the shield, which disappeared exactly like the first one.  The shield darkened further, almost obscuring the house from view, causing the redhead to grumble under her breath.  Once more contemplating the shield, Willow tried again, this time aiming the power downward, to where the ground and the shield met, hoping the shield just ended at the ground level.  This time, the shield set off a buzzing noise, darkening to almost completely opacity.    
  
Screwing up her features like a four year old thwarted by her mother, Willow stomped her foot and shook her fist at the shield.  Pacing in front of where she knew the porch was, Willow thought hard, trying to come up with a way to break through.  Inspiration struck on her fourth pass, and she whirled around, facing the front of the house once more.  
  
Instead of sending power toward the shield, Willow drew it away.  At first nothing seemed to be happening, though little by little, the shield began to lighten, and finally, it was invisible again.  Inhaling deeply, trying hard to channel the excess energy through herself, Willow began the process again.  The shield buckled, wobbled a bit, then deflated like a balloon.    
  
Swaying on her feet like a drunk, Willow rocked forward slowly, proceeding easily up the steps.    
  
This time, when she tried the door, she was prepared for the wards, and even though they were knotted and tied up like an interlocking Celtic key pattern, Willow blasted right through them.    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Standing at the doorway, with Anya just a little bit behind her, Tara knew when the first shield went down, because the backlash of power rolled through her, nauseating her and making her head swim.  Her eyes closed, and she sent a small prayer to Gaia to protect them all.  There was only one person she knew with enough power to blast through the shield like that and Tara knew Willow’s appearance here and now was not a social visit.  
  
“That was her, wasn’t it?”  Anya’s voice sounded right in her ear, and all Tara could do was nod her head in admittance.  “Should I go upstairs and get them out of here?”  
  
Upon her arrival less than an hour before, Anya had outlined Spike’s latest contingency plan on how to keep the two youngest Scoobies safe and sound.  Tara had quickly agreed to it, knowing if they didn’t have a backup, more than likely something would go terribly wrong.  
  
“No.  That’s a last ditch effort.  I warded the room again.  It’s got triple wards.”  Tara fought the stutter she felt building on her tongue, forcing herself to calmness.  “Only if she gets through the first set of wards upstairs should we start to worry.”  
  
“Start?  Only start to worry?  Are you crazy?  Tara, that has to be one pissed off witch out there and who knows what kind of damage she’s planning on doing when she finally gets in here.”  Anya folded her arms over her chest, glaring at the other blond.  “I think it would be better if we just teleported right out of here.”  
  
Tara grabbed her arm as Anya started around her.  “I don’t think we want to get them out of here this soon.  What. . . what if we can’t get back?  What do we do then?”  
  
“D’Hoffryn won’t hold us without letting Spike or Buffy know what’s going on.  He’d ask for a very high ransom, but he wouldn’t hold us forever.”    
  
Shaking her head, Tara motioned the other girl to silence.  “The second shield is holding.  Just give it a bit before we run like scared rabbits.”  
  
A small shriek escaped Anya’s mouth.  “Why do you do that!  Don’t mention rabbits!  Or bunnies!  Or anything furry and long-eared at all!”  
  
The insane urge to giggle burbled up in Tara’s throat, though she fought it back; it was only nerves and the tension weighing on her.  Even so, the shriek and look on Anya’s face was worth the abrupt change in subject.  She waited a beat while Anya composed herself and then motioned toward the door.  “We have some time.”  
  
“Sure we do.  And when Willow finally punches through all the wards, we can stand here and cower like the powerless humans we are.”  
  
“No, not completely powerless.”      
  
The voice sounded from behind them, and both girls turned around to see the shimmering image of Joyce Summers standing behind them.


	60. Unto the breach

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter 60.   Unto the breach  
  
  
March to the battle-field,  
The foe is now before us;  
Each heart is Freedom’s shield,  
And heaven is shining o’er us.  
     B. E. O’Meara: March to the Battle-Field.  
  
People do not want words — they want the sound of battle   
… the battle of destiny.   
    Gamal Abdel Nasser,  To National Assembly 20 Jan 69  
  
The trumpets sound, the banners fly,  
The glittering spears are ranked ready;   
The shouts o’ war are heard afar,  
The battle closes thick and bloody;  
     Robert Burns, The Silver Tassie  
  
Once more unto the breach,   
dear friends, once more.   
     Henry V, act 3, sc. 1, l. 1.**_  
  
  
  
  
  
They were only a few blocks from the mansion and Buffy had just turned to say something to Giles when an annoyingly high-pitched whine sounded from every cell phone.  Oz doubled over, holding his hands over his ears, while Spike growled, cringing from the noise.  The Buffybot stopped dead, cocking her head to the side, then chirped, “That’s a really horrible noise.  Can you make it go away?”  
  
The real Buffy let loose a remarkable imitation of one of Spike’s warning growls and although everyone else flinched, the Buffybot just remained staring at her with a vacant expression.    
  
“Buffy, it’s the shields for the house.  The outer one has been breached.”  Wesley was the first to react, knowing immediately this changed their plans.  
  
The whining noise went on a bit longer, then stopped as abruptly as it had started.  Spike shook his head, then looked to Buffy.  Oz had finally straightened up, though it was obvious he was in a little bit of pain.    
  
“Can you hear me?”  Giles stood in front of Oz, a worried look on his face.  When Oz nodded, then pointed to his ears, Giles sighed.  “We should have thought of this.  Hopefully they’ll clear up shortly.”  
  
Just as he was about to turn to Spike to ask the same question, a loud booming noise echoed down the street and off the surrounding houses.  Car alarms and sirens went off, and neighborhood dogs howled along with the sirens.    
  
Faith swung her gaze between Spike and Buffy, wondering which way they were going to decide.  “Kay, so Sammy boy came through, what the hell are we gonna do now?”  
  
“We’re gonna head back to the house and protect Dawnie and Connor.”  Buffy hefted the sword over her shoulder and headed off in the other direction, only to be called back by Wesley, who merely pointed down the block.  
  
“Oh crap.”    
  
Fanning out, they faced the oncoming vampires, presenting a united front.  Buffy and Faith stepped forward, followed by Spike, the bot, and Lawson.  Waiting patiently until the vampires cleared the two cars parked about fifty feet ahead of them, they finally got a rough count of how many vampires were approaching.  Only about thirty-five headed in their direction, so Buffy called over her shoulder to the rest of them.  “Giles, Wes, you guys stay back and shoot any of them that get past us.”  
  
Spike stretched, loosening his muscles.  “Time to go to work, kiddies.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Standing just outside the mansion, Hawkins decided against boldly going in and asking for Glynnis.  Instead, he opted for stealth and unknowingly he followed the path Giles and Wesley had used before on the quest to find Cordelia.  He couldn’t see any of the main rooms, only the occupied bedrooms, and none of them held the vampire he was looking for.  _Damn her. . . what the fuck was she thinking?_ He heaved out a sigh.  _Knew what she was thinking, just why was she doing it now?  She never could wait until someone explained it to her.  Always jumping in without knowing the plot.  
_  
Moving around toward the back of the building, Hawkins smelled the odor of gas and fried ozone.  Backpedaling quickly, he ran around toward the front entrance and was on the neatly manicured lawn, closer to the sidewalk than the house when a loud whomp sounded, followed by a high-pitched whistle and the house rocked on its foundations.  Flames shot out from the back of the building in a plume of black smoke and ash that rained down all over the property.  Hawkins stumbled backward, nearly landing on his ass when dozens of vampires streamed from the building, some of them battling sudden flames.  Two males streaked along the path he’d just taken, their shirts on fire and despite yells from others, they ran, the flames spreading.  Before either of them could completely round the corner of the house, they disappeared in a shower of ash.  Three more died the same way before Hawkins spied a shrieking blond emerging from the front door, followed by a loudly cursing Glynnis.  
  
The two women ran, heading toward the street, the blond covering her head with her hands while Glynnis kind of pushed and tugged her forward at the same time.  Hawkins sidled up to Glynnis, grabbing her and moving her away from the other one.  “Jenner knows, you stupid bint.”  
  
Shaking off his hold, she glared at him.  “Why the fuck do you care?  It’s not like William the Bloody is worth dying over.”  
  
“Angelus is worse.  At least with William you’d know he’d remember you.  Angelus wouldn’t care one way or the other.”  He pulled her harder, uncaring when she couldn’t untangle her feet.  
  
“Let me go, you jackass.”  Glynnis dug in her heels and pulled away from Hawkins’ grip.  “I can’t believe you.  You’d fight alongside the Slayer because you don’t like Angelus?”   She looked at him as if he were deranged, shaking her head.  “He’s fighting with pulsers, humans!  The bloody fucking Slayer, for the love of Mike.”  
  
Hawkins made a grab for her again.  “You’ve got to come with me, otherwise Jenner’s going to let you fry.  If Spike catches you, you won’t be safe.”  
  
The blond came up to them, jabbering excitedly.  “Glynnie? The whole place is gonna burn and well, Angel said we should go, you know, to that other place.  He wants me to show you where it is.  So are you coming?”  
  
As she spoke another blast rocked the already shaky foundation, and there was a loud groaning.  Flames over twenty feet high shot through the roof of the building, gusting out from the west wall.  Agonized screams came from those trapped inside and the blond flinched hearing them.  Speaking more to herself than the other two standing with her, she muttered softly,  “Oh my god.  I don’t think he got out. . .   He went back for Druidzilla.   Is he crazy?”  
  
The sound of floorboards and walls collapsing echoed around them and Harmony stared at the mansion, mouth hanging open wide.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Drusilla whined low in her throat, her hand wrapped around Angel’s upper arm, cowering against him at the same time.  They were trapped in their bedroom, blocked in by the flames outside the door.  Angel had backed away, keeping Drusilla behind him, steering them into the bathroom.  Glancing around, he knew the only way out was through the small window, unless he could come up with some other plan.    
  
A second explosion rocked the house, knocking Drusilla off balance and she crashed into the tub, banging both knees hard.  She groaned, hands on knees, tears of pain and terror streaming down her pale cheeks.  _The tub . . . right._ Angel turned the taps on full blast, whirled around and headed for the bedroom.  “Dru, get yourself all wet.”  When she whined her opposition unintelligibly, all Angel did was yell again.  “Do it, Dru!  Now!”  
  
“Get out, Drusilla. . . get dressed, must run.  Get dried.  No, no, silly girl, must get all wet again.  Daddy doesn’t know his own mind.  Bad, mad Daddy,” she sing-songed into the smokey air, her hands wringing out a wet towel onto her head.    
  
Angel came back into the bathroom, trailing blankets and sheets behind him.  “We don’t have time for this, Dru.  You need to listen to me now.”  He dumped the blankets into the bathtub, holding them down so they absorbed all the water.  Addressing his comments to the water gushing from the taps, he spoke.  “C’mon, c’mon, we don’t have time to waste.“  
  
He slapped the first blanket over Dru’s back, wetting her from hair to shoes and she shrieked, clawing at him.  “Dru, take it easy.  This is the only way we’re going to get out of this, so I need you to listen and pay attention.  Can you do that for Daddy?  Can you, Dru?”   
  
His voice had taken on a soft, soothing quality as he spoke, which the vampire in front of him responded to, and she looked up at him, her eyes big and wide in her face.  “I’ll be good, Daddy, I promise.”  
  
“Good.  Okay, listen to me, Dru.  When we get out of this room, I want you to hold onto my belt and never, ever let go.  Not for any reason.  Do you understand me?”  She nodded once, but his attention was on the second blanket, which was bigger and of denser material and it was sluggish in soaking up the water.  Adding a sheet to the mess, Angel draped the sheet on top of the first blanket covering Drusilla.  Finally, there was some progress, and Angel added the last sheets to the tub.  The water spluttered, slowed down but kept flowing and he knew their time was up.    
  
“Let’s go.  You remember, hold onto my belt loop.”  Without waiting for her to answer him this time, Angel swirled the blanket and sheets over his head and moved quickly through the bedroom.  Drusilla’s hand curled into his back, nails scraping a thin line down the middle, and she clamped onto his belt loop with all her strength.  
  
He paused at the door, lifted his foot and kicked it open.  The roaring seemed to grow and Angel flinched away as a heavy beam crashed down next to him.   Flames licked and blazed up the walls, and though he couldn’t hear Drusilla behind him, he knew she was still there because of the tight hold she had of him.    
  
Angel roared over the flames, “NOW!”    
  
He led Drusilla, at a dead run, to the front door.   
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Wesley found himself on the sidelines, watching the fight unfold in front of him, his crossbow at the ready.  Giles had positioned himself behind an SUV conveniently parked in a driveway; they were diagonally opposite each other, with Giles just steps closer to the action.  There was no vehicle he could take similar refuge behind, only a small decorative flowering pear tree, which gave him very little cover.  Although, he realized, as he watched Faith neatly behead a vampire, hiding wasn’t really necessary.  In fact, he could have been better used by videotaping the entire fight.    
  
Twice now, a vampire had erupted in spontaneous combustion, and Wesley had watched both times as Spike neatly stepped away and let the vampire disintegrate.  His eyes followed Faith and Lawson, who were in a loose pair, while the Buffybot efficiently and cheerfully killed her own opponents, Oz merely herding the loose ones in her direction.  Buffy and Spike were spinning and dodging, staking and removing heads in a fluid motion that couldn’t possibly be called brawling.  It was far too graceful.  Even as he watched, crossbow now held in lax hands, Spike leaned to his right, almost ducking behind Buffy, catching his adversary across the jaw with a swipe of his left foot.  The vampire’s head snapped back, and the body fell to the ground.  Leaving the vampire, Spike switched off with Buffy, moving in to engage the three she’d been fighting, while she squared off against the two Spike had been battling.    
  
The realization of what Buffy and Spike were doing hit Wesley hard and he forced himself not to laugh outright.  They were dancing.  To a tune they alone heard, and it certainly was neither a waltz nor a minuet, yet it was graceful and riveting to watch.  
  
Somehow the rhythm swept through their group, first Faith, then Lawson catching the steps and moves and suddenly, the four of them were fighting as one unit, switching off and effortlessly, seamlessly stepping in and out of each other’s maneuvers.  He couldn’t breathe for watching them, and Wesley found himself counting in time to their steps.  _Lunge, parry, thrust, gone, one down; lunge, parry, thrust, gone, two now._ It was deadly and dangerous and all the more beautiful because it was completely and totally unexpected.    
  
 _Was this what Jenner meant about the other pair?_ For once in his life, Wesley found himself wishing for the presence of a vampire. _I wonder what he would make of this?_ Wesley glanced across to where Giles was standing, nearly laughing at the expression on the older man’s face.  _So I’m not the only one feeling it then. . ._  
  
In a flurry of movement, Buffy and Spike converged on two vampires,  dust exploding in the air between them and in the next instant, their cell phones began emitting another high-pitched whine.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Hello, girls.”  Joyce greeted the two, a sad smile wreathing her features.  “There isn’t much time, so you need to listen closely.”  
  
Anya stared at the figure, squinting as her eyes tried to adjust to the light emanating from Joyce’s form.  “You are dead.  How come no one around here stays dead?”  
  
Joyce chuckled softly at Anya’s artless question.  “I am still dead, Anya dear, and I’m not about to be resurrected or brought back.”  
  
“Well that’s good.”  She thought about it for a second, then asked, “It is good, right?”  
  
“Depends on your point of view, I suppose.”  Joyce stepped closer to the two, putting out a hand to touch Tara’s forearm.  “Are you okay, sweetheart?”  
  
Tara started shaking her head, at first in acceptance, then in denial.  She tried to speak, though no words escaped her.  “It’s okay, I understand.  Just take a deep breath and you’ll be fine.”  
  
When she’d finally settled down enough, Tara opened her mouth.  “Why are . . . is it that bad?”  
  
“No, not really.  It isn’t all good, I’ll grant you that.”  Joyce rested her gaze on the obviously upset girl.  “I’m here to give you a warning and a promise.”  
  
“We’re gonna die.  That’s what you’re here to warn us about, right?”  
  
“No.”  There was no hesitation in Joyce’s voice and the girls relaxed visibly.  “There is going to be a price paid, though, for something else.  Something neither of you knew about, and before you ask, I can’t tell you.  All you need to know right now is the price is not another life.”  
  
There was silence for a few moments, then Tara stuttered out, “Dawnie.  She was supposed to . . .   She wasn’t supposed to make it.”  
  
Joyce didn’t need to answer, the truth was written on the set of her features and all of them shared the silence, realizing how close they had come to losing her.  
  
“Remember what I’m about to tell you both.  It’s important Buffy gets this message and she understands what has to happen.  The price isn’t permanent and only a dead man can cross the boundaries.”  She waited, her gaze steady on the two girls.  “Do you understand?”  
  
“Only a dead man can cross the boundaries and the price isn’t permanent.”  Anya repeated Joyce’s words, while Tara nodded in understanding.  
  
“Good.  Now don’t forget it.”  Joyce stepped forward, placing her hand on Tara’s forehead, just between her eyes.  A soft purple light glowed between them and Joyce whispered softly, “When the time comes, you’ll know what to do.  Trust in your connection to spirit.”  
  
Tara’s eyes closed when Joyce’s fingers had grazed her skin and the second her voice died off, she opened them, an enigmatic look on her features.  “Your strength is in your faith and you are far stronger than you believe.”  
  
Anya looked on, nodding her head in agreement.  She was caught completely by surprise when Joyce turned to face her.  “You too, child of vengeance.  Not all your gifts are gone, you only have to find the key to unlocking them.”  
  
Joyce stepped back, clasping her hands in front of her.  “Remember, girls, the price isn’t permanent.”  
  
The door splintered, crashing open, pieces of wood scattering all over the hall, striking the spot where the image of Joyce had been standing seconds before.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Glynnis had fought him off, pushing Hawkins off balance when a nameless vampire exploded in a shower of ash right beside them.  She grabbed Harmony, pulling her away from the flames.  “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”  
  
Breathlessly, Harmony ran beside her, babbling the whole time, “He got out, right?  Angel wouldn’t just go up in a burning building.  I mean he’s like the strongest vampire around, he wouldn’t just poof like that.  Right?”  
  
“I have no fucking idea, but I’m not sticking around to find out.”  Sending an angry look at the blonde, Glynnis shook her head.  “Where did he want us to go?”  
  
“We have to get to the Slayer’s house.  He’s supposed to meet us there.”  Harmony pointed left, directing Glynnis.    
  
Sirens and alarms were wailing all around them and Harmony flinched every time one came close.  Turning down another street, Harmony backtracked again, avoiding the obvious sounds of a fight.  Knowing if it was Buffy and Spike she didn’t stand a chance of surviving, Harmony led Glynnis away, ignoring her complaints.  
  
Bypassing an ambulance racing toward the mansion, the two females headed toward Revello Drive through Shady Rest Cemetery  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Willow hovered over the threshold, momentarily held back by the residual energy from Joyce’s visit.  Tara stared at her, stunned speechless by the changes in her former girlfriend.  Anya, however, didn’t suffer from any such affliction.  “Oh, Willow, you’ve gone for the all-evil makeover.  I’m not sure I like the darker hair and paler skin, although it certainly makes your eyes stand out.”  
  
“Shut up, Anya.”  Willow stared at the former demon, sparks flickering at her fingertips and the ends of her hair.  “You really shouldn’t piss me off right now, I’m already all bad moody.”  Her attention shifted to Tara, and although there was a slight softening of her features, Willow’s expression remained the same.  “Why did you lock me out?”  
  
“We. . . Buffy and. . .  We thought it would be safer to put shields around the house to keep out everything. . .   To keep out the bad stuff.”  Tara was fighting the stutter, fighting to keep her control in the face of the power and fury emanating from Willow.  
  
“So you and Buffy consider _me_ one of the evil things?”  When Anya started to speak, Willow snapped at her, “I said _shut_ up.”  
  
From deep inside her, Tara found the kernel of strength and power Joyce had mentioned and she focused inward for a second, steadying her nerves and her heartbeat.  “No, Willow, I don’t think you’re evil, but you are out of control.  You need to just stop reacting and think about what you’re doing and who you are threatening.”  
  
Her lips pursed, and Willow’s eyes narrowed as she stared at Tara.  “I’m not threatening.  I just came over to fix all the bad stuff, everything that’s gone wrong.”  
  
“You can’t fix this, Willow, anymore than you could undo whatever else you’ve done.  Fixing things the way you want them isn’t the answer.”    
  
“But this is all wrong, and you know it.  There’s no way Buffy would be with Spike if everything was normal.  Something is wrong with her, she came back wrong.”  Willow pushed against the energy left by Joyce, and feeling it give, she moved into the foyer.   
  
“There’s nothing wrong with Buffy.  She’s fine.”  Tara was shaking her head in denial of Willow’s words, although she knew Buffy had come back _different_.  Being pulled away from heaven would cause anyone problems.  Even if she tried explaining so to Willow, Tara had a feeling she’d be ignored.  
  
“Oh, please, don’t even try that.  She’s not fine, how could she be fine?  She’s sleeping with Spike.”  Willow flicked her wrist, sending an arc of power over Anya’s head as a warning shot.  “Don’t, Anya, I’ll make it hurt.”  
  
“You _can’t_ keep doing this.  This is wrong, Willow, and it’s going to come back on you.  Just stop this, please.”  Tara tried one more time to reach her old lover, but Willow wasn’t listening.  Instead, she pursed her lips again, shaking her head against Tara’s entreaties.    
  
“I _can_ fix this.”  
  
Willow moved closer, her hand outstretched, palm facing toward the two girls, when Tara inhaled deeply, fixing her eyes on the redhead.  “You shouldn’t.  Willow, just let it go.  This isn’t something that needs fixing.”  
  
Tara’s normally soft features stiffened, her jaw tightening with resolution.  Ignoring her, Willow pulled her bag off her shoulders, preparing to start at least one of the spells she intended to cast.  Taking advantage of her distraction, Anya moved forward, grabbing a hold of the straps and pulled.  Willow’s eyes flared, and she dropped the backpack, her hand circling Anya’s wrist.  “ _Rigescere_.”  
  
Anya’s entire body stiffened, her muscles frozen in place.  Her eyes bulged, darting from Willow to Tara and Tara could feel the panic and fear engulfing the other girl.  With another deep breath, she stepped closer, making a small motion with her right hand, even as Willow was raging at Anya to keep her mouth shut.  Using Willow as a distraction to hide her motions, Tara slid between the two, uttering a single word.  
  
“Release.”  
  
Anya fell back, gasping for air and leaning heavily on the wall for support.  
  
“You can’t do things like that, Willow, you could’ve killed Anya.”  
  
Instead of speaking, Willow grabbed for Tara, who awkwardly moved away from her grasp.  “No Willow, you can’t . . .  I’m not going to let you hurt anyone.”  
  
“It’s only Anya.  I was just keeping her out of the way, I wasn’t going to hurt her.”  
  
“I couldn’t breathe.”    
  
Anya’s voice was a hoarse whisper and Willow turned to look at her, eyes narrowed.  “I said **_shut up_**.”  
  
“Silencio.”  
  
Tara released Anya almost as quickly as Willow had bound her, drawing the other witch’s attention.  
  
“You really don’t want to do that, Tara.  I don’t want to hurt you.”  
  
“I don’t want to hurt you either, Willow, but I can’t stand by and let you hurt anyone else.”  
  
Power flared from Willow’s fingertips and she flicked them at Tara, muttering under her breath.  Tara struggled for calm, then passed her hand in front of her, palm outward. The movement warded off the arc of power, directing it away from both her and Anya.  It hit the wall, cracking the plaster and shaking the house.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Angel, with Drusilla clinging to him tightly, burst through the front door just as the floorboards behind them creaked ominously, flames engulfing the entry.  He’d lost the sheet, and the blanket had slipped dangerously during the run from the master suite, though he kept moving, intent on escape.  
  
Once outside, Angel shook off the blanket, turning around to free Drusilla from her smoldering bed-clothes.  His hair had been singed, along with his hands and forearms, but his desperate plan had worked.  Rescue personnel were arriving and paramedics raced up to them, intent on checking them both for injuries.  Drusilla was unharmed, the waterlogged blankets had proved more than enough protection for her.  Angel allowed them to be drawn away from the fire, to the back of an open ambulance.  
  
Taking advantage of the confusion, Angel shifted into game face and quickly drained the first paramedic, while Drusilla attacked the second.  
  
Moments later, the two master vampires were on their way to Revello Drive, just steps behind Harmony and the others.


	61. Comes a rattle and hum

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 61.  Comes a rattle and hum   
  
  
In the howling wind comes a stinging rain   
See it driving nails   
Into the souls on the tree of pain   
From the firefly, a red orange glow   
See the face of fear   
Running scared in the valley below   
  
Bullet the blue sky   
Bullet the blue sky   
Bullet the blue   
Bullet the blue   
  
In the locust wind comes a rattle and hum   
Jacob wrestled the angel   
And the angel was overcome   
You plant a demon seed   
You raise a flower of fire   
See them burning crosses   
See the flames higher and higher   
    U2, Bullet the Blue Sky, from the album The Joshua Tree, 1987  
  
News of battle! News of battle!  
Hark. ‘Tis ringing down the street  
And the archways and the pavement  
Hear the clang of hurrying feet.  
News of battle. Who has brought it?   
     William Edmonstoune Aytoun, Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers  
  
March to the battle-field,  
The foe is now before us;  
Each heart is Freedom’s shield,  
And heaven is shining o’er us.   
     B. E. O’Meara, March to the Battle-Field  
  
From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,  
The hum of either army stilly sounds,  
That the fixed sentinels almost receive  
The secret whispers of each other’s watch.  
Fire answers fire, and through their play flames  
Each battle sees the other’s umbered face.  
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs  
Piercing the night’s dull ear; and from the tents  
The armorers accomplishing the knights,  
With busy hammers closing rivets up,  
Give dreadful note of preparation.  
    King Henry V (IV, Prologue)  
_**  
  
  
  
His side ached, a sharp hitch preventing him from inhaling deeply, yet he pushed himself to keep up with the others.  However, he had at least fifteen years on Wesley and the rest were other than human anyway.  Giles fought past the pain, struggling not to fall too far behind.  
  
They were racing full out for Revello Drive, Buffy’s desperation to protect Dawn and Connor communicating itself quickly to the others.  Once their cell phones had stopped buzzing the second time, they set off for the house, Buffy in the lead, with Spike just steps behind her.  
  
And he was very much bringing up the rear.  
  
Giles wasn’t out of shape, but he was considerably older.  He watched as Spike said something to Buffy then started dropping back.  As he neared, Rupert pushed his legs harder, listening to his own harsh breathing.  Spike paced him effortlessly, his eyes on the Slayers racing ahead of him.  
  
“All right, Watcher?”  Spike didn’t look at him, though Rupert could feel the weight of his concern all the same.  
  
“Holding up.”  Giles could barely rasp out the words.  
  
“Only one person can smash through those shields this fast.”  
  
“Probably.”  Giles could feel the pain creeping through him, clutching around his lungs, constricting them.  
  
“Need you an’ Oxford to work on the mojo.  You gonna be okay?”  At this Spike did angle his head, eyes narrowed, listening closely to Rupert’s labored breathing.  “Never mind.”  
  
Without waiting for the lie he knew Giles was going to try for, Spike looped his arm around Giles’ waist, taking the burden of movement from him.  
  
“Hold on, old man.”  
  
And Spike pulled even with Lawson, motioning him to grab onto Giles from the other side.  Grudgingly grateful for the help, Rupert grunted something unintelligible at the two vampires.  
  
Spike just set his face forward and ran.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Dawn heard the noise of the alarm when the first shield fell, abruptly coming awake from a semi-sleep state.  Tara’s presence and kiss had gone unremarked, the teen uncertain of the reason behind it.  She snapped to awareness, though, at the first strains of the high-pitched bells and the door slamming behind Tara.  
  
Startled, she looked around, wondering what – or who – had destroyed the shield.  Dawn carefully rolled herself to a sitting position on the edge of her bed, facing the door of her bedroom.  Knowing Tara, she probably had a new set of wards and shields around her room and their best chance for staying safe was staying put.  
  
Unable to straighten up fully, Dawn got to her feet anyway.  She had a weird feeling about this, about who was attempting to get through to the house.  It had to be Willow.  
  
Connor whimpered in his sleep, drawing her attention.  _Okay.  So.  If that’s Willow trying to get through, we’re okay.  For **now**.  But Miss I-wanna-be-Voldemort will probably get through.  So we need to hide._  
  
Shuffling her way around the bed, Dawn stared down at Connor for long minutes.  _Dunno how we’re gonna do this . . .  
_  
Dropping slowly down to her knees, Dawn rested against the side of the bed, gasping for air, and fighting to stay conscious.  Dark spots danced behind her closed eyelids as she pressed a hand against her ribs.  
  
When she finally gained some control over the pain, Dawn reached for Connor, who was looking up at her with solemn eyes.  “All right, little man, can you help me here?  Gotta get a hiding place, so the bad witch doesn’t find us.”  
  
Connor rolled onto his belly, crawling forward, toward her. “I swear, dude, you are one smart rugrat.”  She shook her head in amused disbelief as he seemed to listen to her.  “I need you to scoot over here.  Good baby.”  
  
Guiding him with her hand, Dawn pressed against the bed, holding him high against her shoulder.  Her left side had taken the brunt of her injuries so she held Connor against her right, hoping his kicking feet would stay still.  Trying not to move too much, Dawn stayed on her knees, then slowly knee-walked over to the far corner of her bed. Slumping between the night table and her dresser, Dawn sat against the wall.  _Okay so, it’s a lame hiding place.  I don’t . . .    I can’t run and hide, so presenting a small target should work.  I hope anyway._  
  
Sweat and tears stood out on her face and though every inch of her body ached in protest, she held onto Connor.  
  
The baby settled again, his fist wrapped around her long hair, face tucked against her neck.  He whimpered once then stilled.  “We’re gonna be okay. Tara’s here and Buffy and Spike will protect us.  We’re gonna be okay.”  
  
She wasn’t sure which one of them she was trying to convince.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Xander knew what was happening somewhere else in Sunnydale right this moment.  Somewhere between the Magic Box and Crawford Street – the mansion specifically – Buffy was fighting.  And not just Buffy.  Giles.  Faith.  Wesley.  Oz.  Spike.  All of them, though he really didn’t want to think too hard about Spike’s part in this, fighting together to stop Angel.  
  
He’d tried going home, but the apartment had been too quiet, reminding him all too clearly of the hours before they’d run from Glory.  That idea hadn’t worked, so he’d headed toward the hospital, prepared to sit with Cordelia until he remembered Gunn and Fred were there and his presence wasn’t needed.  
  
So now here he was, standing outside the Magic Box staring at the window, wondering why.  
  
Why Spike and not him? Why did Buffy constantly seek out the vampires?  Why it mattered so much that she did.  
  
Mostly, though, he was wondering why he was acting like this. _Is it just because of Spike?  Aside from the evil dead thing, Spike wasn’t that bad a guy.  So why?  
_  
Why was he standing here, like a jerk, when he could be helping?  For nearly six years, he’d been there whenever Buffy needed help, no matter who else was.  
  
Xander stuck his hands into his pockets and stared at the expensive display in the window.  He didn’t like this feeling or the way his thoughts were going.  He liked being a part of Buffy’s life, liked helping her save the world, even if he wasn’t always all that much help.  He’d always done his best, tried to at least.  
  
Until lately.  
  
If he were being honest with himself, Xander could admit he was jealous of Spike and his place in Buffy’s life.  Xander jumped as a fire engine roared past, sirens blaring and, in a flash of insight, he knew exactly where that fire engine was headed.  
  
This was the first fight in six years he wasn’t a part of; wasn’t helping to fight.  
  
 _I don’t. . .   This isn’t right.  
  
I should be helping.  
  
Doing something.  
  
Anything._  
  
He had no idea where Buffy and the others might be. . .  _Except, I do know where Anya is.  
  
And Tara.  
  
Dawnie and Angel’s kid._  
  
With a newfound sense of resolve, Xander pulled out his keys, then headed for Revello Drive.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She could hear the murmur of voices behind her, and she caught the sound of Spike talking to Giles.  Buffy let the voices wash over her, holding onto the sounds, letting them  give her focus, just one more way of keeping the panic from overwhelming her.  Spike had dropped back to make sure Giles kept up, because at this moment, they couldn’t afford to lose anyone.  
  
Lawson hadn’t been able to give them an accurate count of how many vampires were in the mansion when the explosion occurred; only able to give them a total of sleeping bodies.  Harmony’s presence came only as a slight surprise.  While names meant nothing to her, the sheer number of vampires in the mansion was staggering.  With any kind of luck, all those vampires they’d just faced had been the remainder of Angel’s forces and they wouldn’t have to face large numbers elsewhere.  
  
Seizing on the thought of Angel, Buffy refused to allow the rising panic any more leeway.  They were going to be safe – and this was just going to be a false alarm.  
  
Buffy clung to the thought, even as she pushed herself to run faster.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Harmony stared at what was once the front door of Buffy’s house and smiled.  “Well this is certainly new.  And kinda interesting.”  
  
Motioning to Glynnis, she stepped closer, avoiding the splintered pieces of wood, wondering out loud what had been strong enough to destroy the door.  
  
As she stepped onto the porch, the house shook and light flashed inside the entryway.  “Hello?  Anyone here?”  
  
Stopping at the doorway, held back by the barrier, Harmony peeked in the house.  “Willow?  Is that you?  What the hell did you do?”  
  
The three girls in the hallway froze, turning to look at the vampires.  A stray pulse of power flared, arching through the room, shattering the mirror by the door.  
  
“Hey!  Watch it, Willow, you almost hit me with that!”  Harmony frowned, waving her hand in the general direction of the mirror.  “Did you do something to your hair?”  
  
“Shut up, Harmony.”  Willow snapped at her.  Tara took advantage of Willow’s distraction to throw up a quick protective barrier.  Grabbing Anya’s hand, she tugged her up the stairs.  
  
They only got as far as the landing when Willow broke through the flimsy barrier, sending a bolt of energy up toward the two.  “Did you really think that was going to work?”  
  
Tara turned to face Willow, who stared up at the two girls.  “I didn’t expect anything.”  
  
She pushed away from Anya, presenting a full target for Willow, while whispering to the other blond, “Now would be a good time.”  
  
“A good time for what?  Do you really think you’ll be able to fight me off together?”  A sneer marred Willow’s face.  “I don’t think you’re going to get very far, but hey, feel free to try.”  
  
As the words left her mouth, her hand lifted and an arc of green lightning flared from her fingers.  At the last second, Tara deflected it away, causing another jolt to shake the house.  Tara stumbled back, accidentally knocking into Anya, who lost her footing as a second bolt of energy flowed from Willow’s fingertips.  The flaring end caught Anya squarely, despite Tara’s attempt to block it.  She stumbled, toppling down the stairs, knocking Willow off her feet in a rush.  
  
Torn between going back downstairs to help Anya and somehow getting the two children away, Tara hesitated until the sound of Harmony’s laughter filled the hallway.  
  
Disentangling herself from Anya, Willow glared at the two vampires smirking in the doorway and sent a fireball winging toward them.  
  
Harmony shrieked, ducking to the side away from danger, while Glynnis just stepped out of the way.  Figuring Willow would be occupied with the two vampires, Tara whirled around and headed for Dawn’s room.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Angel, with Drusilla right beside him, ran through the dark streets of Sunnydale, heading straight for the Slayer’s house.  The two vampires paid no heed to following streets or boundaries, running through yards and jumping over fences.  
  
Before long, they were running onto Revello Drive, half a block away from Buffy’s.  The crisp smell of magic filled the air, and Angel sped up.  The sound of screeching tires and a blue blur passed right in front of them, and Angel pulled Drusilla back, barely in time to avoid being hit by a car as it flew by.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The moment it was dark enough, Jenner had sent most of his people out, half to look for Glynnis and the others looking for something to eat.  He stayed in, waiting for some word from Hawkins about what was going on with Glynnis.  
  
Like everyone else in Sunnydale, he heard the muffled explosion and the subsequent wail of emergency vehicles racing toward the disaster.  Unlike most of the denizens of Sunnydale, Jenner had some idea the disaster was connected to the struggle between Spike and Angel.  Before his curiosity could get the better of him, his cell phone was ringing.  
  
He hated the things, but he insisted all of his people have them; and Glynnis, who should have had hers, had left it on the bed next to Hawkins before she left.  
  
“What?”  
  
“She’s with Angel.  Won’t listen to me at all.”  Hawkins didn’t waste any time giving him the bad news.  
  
“Fuck.  Any idea what they were planning?”  
  
“They were heading to the Slayer’s house.”  Hawkins paused, then said, “Angel’s place exploded.  I’m not sure how many of his people got out.”  
  
“Where are you now?”  
  
“Just passing the shop we were in last night.”  
  
“You’re still tracking her?”  Jenner pulled on his boots, preparing to head out.  
  
“Yeah.  I’m thinking Spike’s group is heading back there too.”  
  
Thinking over his options, Jenner sighed.  “Stay put.  I’ll meet you there in a few.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
Jenner headed for the door, disconnecting the call.  
  
      
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Connor curled tighter into her side, soft whimpers sounding in the air, while his tiny fists and feet broke through the hold she had on him.  The walls shook and Dawn fought back the scream of fear building in her throat.  
  
Whatever was happening downstairs couldn’t be good, and Dawn was finding it hard to stay put.  
  
 _C’mon, Buffy, where are you?  Now would be a good time to come home and save us._   The house shook again, the ceiling plaster cracked and flaked down on them.  _Now would be a really, really good time.  
_  
There was noise outside her room, the sound of muffled voices, though Dawn didn’t think that was a good thing.  Thumps and thuds sounded, and she knew something or someone had fallen down the steps.  
  
More noises, louder upraised voices and Dawn hugged Connor closer, wrapping him up tighter in his blanket.  
  
 _C’mon guys. . .    Come home.  Please._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Xander drove through the streets, weaving in and around rescue vehicles, trying to get a glimpse of how bad the mansion was.  The closer he got to Crawford Street, the more people he passed, all of them outside, standing around and gawking.   
  
Flames could be seen from a block away and police cars had blocked off access to anyone but emergency personnel.  Xander slowed to a crawl, his eyes scanning through the crowds, looking for signs of vampire activity.  
  
He hit the brakes hard when he thought he caught a glimpse of Drusilla, but it turned out to be one of the neighbors in a long coat, watching the firemen fight the blaze.  
  
Unable to get any closer or a clearer view of the mansion, Xander drove past an empty ambulance, heading straight for Buffy’s house.  
  
There was very little traffic heading away from the mansion, and it took Xander less than two minutes to travel the distance between the two places.   Driving hard around the turn onto Revello Drive, Xander narrowly missed hitting a figure that burst out of a side yard halfway down the block.  It was only once he was past that Xander realized he’d almost run down Drusilla.  
  
 _Damn.  Maybe I should. . ._ Before he was finished that thought, Xander was in front of the house. He parked the car and was out of it before he saw Harmony on the porch.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Faith pulled even with Buffy, her eyes constantly scanning sideways, looking out for more vampires.  They were only about a block away from Revello Drive and as they neared, Buffy started pushing herself harder, running flat out.  
  
At the same instant, both Slayers felt the tingles.  “Vamps,” was Buffy’s unnecessary comment.  
  
“Yeah.”  Faith paced her, Buffy’s increased worry communicating itself clearly.  
  
Spike, who’d been behind them for blocks, suddenly appeared on Buffy’s left, his face set in grim lines.  
  
“He’s here, pet.”  
  
“Thought so.”  Neither one glanced at the other, though Faith could feel the tension between them.  
  
“Gonna slip to the side, right?”  
  
“No, we go in together.”  
  
Spike dared a look then and the sight of Buffy’s face made him falter; he lost a half step, seeing the tears slip down her cheeks.  
  
“Right.”  
  
All talk died then, since the house was now in sight.  
  
Xander’s car was parked out in front, and two female vampires had him by the arms, while Angel systematically slapped first one side of his face, then the other.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The transition from the Otherworld to another dimension was never easy, much harder on him than the hounds.  There was always an adjustment, moments of disorientation when he couldn’t get his bearings.  He fought the dimensional warp, reeling from both the transition and the pull of the Hellmouth.  
  
 _Something’s not right._  
  
The normal vibration of the Hellmouth was higher, charged with dark magics and unusual energy.  
  
Two of the younger hounds whined, yelping with the desire to be off hunting.  Mael, the lead hound, growled low in his throat, warning the others to settle down.  Soft whining complaints issued from numerous canine throats and the alpha lifted his head to stare at the Huntsman.  
  
Magic was strong in the air and instead of holding them back, he decided it was time.  
  
There was only one witch on the Hellmouth with the power and foolishness to attempt spellcasting of this caliber, this strong enough to leave a signature at this distance.  
  
With a nod of his head and a hand motion, the Huntsman let loose the hounds.


	62. Now’s the day, now’s the hour

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 62.   Now’s the day, now’s the hour  
  
  
Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,  
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,  
Welcome to your gory bed,  
Or to victory!  
Now ’s the day and now ’s the hour;  
See the front o’ battle lour.  
    Robert Burns, Bannockburn.  
  
Thus we may know that there are five essentials for victory:   
He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight.  
He will win who knows how to handle both superior and inferior forces.  
He will win whose army is animated by the same spirit throughout all its ranks.  
He will win who, prepared himself, waits to take the enemy unprepared.  
He will win who has military capacity and is not interfered with by the sovereign.  
    Sun-Tzu, The Art of War   
  
Queen of Light took her bow,   
And then she turned to go,   
The Prince of Peace embraced the gloom,   
And walked the night alone.   
Oh, dance in the dark of night,   
Sing to the morning light.   
The dark Lord rides in force tonight,   
And time will tell us all.   
Oh, throw down your plow and hoe,   
Rest not to lock your homes.   
Side by side we wait the might of the darkest of them all.  
    Led Zeppelin, The Battle of Evermore_**  
  
  
  
Blood streamed from his nose and numerous cuts on his face from Angel’s systematic blows.  Both eyes were swollen shut and his ears were ringing, but Xander didn’t lose consciousness; refusing to give into the pain.  
  
The two vampires had taken him by surprise, Harmony catching him by the arm before he could race into the house, while some other female grabbed his shirt.  Angel and Drusilla had arrived seconds after him and the instant Angel realized it was Xander, harsh laughter had rung through the night.  
  
The first slap had stung, catching him by surprise, though by the third or fourth, Xander knew he was in trouble.  He could taste the blood trickling down his throat, coppery sweet and warm, filling his mouth, choking him.  The squelch and popping of the cartilage in his nose nearly crumpled his knees;  it was only because he refused to let Angel see him cower and beg that Xander remained on his feet.  
  
Dazed and barely holding onto consciousness, long after he’d lost count of the number of times he’d been hit, Xander didn’t realize the blows had stopped until someone grabbed him around the waist, helping him inside the house.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Red’s in the house.”  Spike said as they raced across the front lawn.  
  
Signaling to get Faith’s attention, Buffy said, “You get Willow.”  
  
When she started to object, Buffy shook her head.  “We’ll get Xander.”  
  
“Kay.”  Bypassing the vampires holding Xander, Faith headed for the front door while Buffy barreled into Angel.  Spike knocked Harmony out with a single punch and Glynnis dropped her hold on Xander’s arm, throwing punches at Spike’s head.  
  
Drusilla snarled, grabbing Faith by the back of her hair as she ran by, swinging her around.  Faith leaned into the turn, using her momentum to swing her left fist around, knocking into Drusilla, causing her to stumble and loosen her grip on Faith’s hair.  
  
Buffy and Angel traded blows, neither one gaining ground on the other.  Spike fought Glynnis, one eye watching Buffy and he smoothly stepped in an instant before Angel’s foot connected with Buffy’s belly.  Taking the full brunt of the kick in his right thigh, Spike buckled, dropping to one knee while raising his left arm to block Angel’s next blow.  
  
Giles gasped for air, hunched over, his hands on his knees.  Wesley reached Xander as he was about to fall over, then helped him inside.    
  
Buffy had sidestepped away from Angel’s foot, deftly throwing a left hook at Glynnis’ jaw, knocking the vampire on her ass, off the porch.  She looked up when she heard Oz’ quiet voice, her eyes widening at the sight before them.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Tara turned her back on Willow, racing up the rest of the stairs and starting down the hallway.  She spared a thought for Anya, hoping she wasn’t too badly injured, grateful for the confusion her fall had caused.  With luck, the momentary advantage would be enough to get both Dawn and Connor out of the house and away from danger.  
  
Though at this second, she wasn’t sure where a safe place might be.  
  
Footsteps sounded behind her and Tara dared a look over her shoulder.  Willow was just steps away, a look of such anger and disgust on her features that Tara faltered.  
  
“You know you aren’t strong enough to fight me.  And you don’t really want to anyway.”  
  
She whirled around, squarely facing her former girlfriend.  “I don’t want to, but I will.  This isn’t right, Willow.  You can stop this, just let it all go.”  
  
“No.  I need to make this all go away, fix everything that’s gone wrong.”  Darkness flared in her eyes, her lips pursed and energy sparked from her.  The light arced toward the blond, which Tara deflected, sending it back toward Willow.  
  
“If you ever had any real feelings . . .   If. . .  Willow, what you’re doing is wrong.”  
  
A soft little noise greeted Tara’s statement.  “Shyeah.  I have lots of feelings.”  
  
“No, I really don’t think you do.”  Tara shook her head.  “At least not enough to realize what you’re doing now is wrong, very wrong.”  
  
“What I’m doing?  I’m not the one sleeping with a demon.”  Willow shrugged.  “I’m all good.”  
  
“No, Willow, I really do have to agree with Tara.  What you’re doing is wrong.”  Wesley spoke from behind her as he grabbed her arms, holding her tight.  Addressing his next comment to Tara, he motioned her with his chin.  “Go.”  
  
Wasting no time, Tara headed down the hallway to Dawn’s room.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Drusilla backhanded Faith, her nails raking across her face, drawing small rivulets of blood.  She dropped her chin, her eyes seeking Faith’s.    Like a snake, once she’d caught Faith’s eye, Drusilla began weaving, humming to a tune only she heard.  
  
Faith’s eyes were drooping, pupils dilating; focusing on Drusilla’s swaying form, her mind going blank, when the connection was abruptly severed.  Blinking furiously, eyes wide and confused, Faith shook her head, watching Giles struggle with the dark-haired vampire, his arms holding her wicked nails away from his face.    
  
“Buffy!”  
  
Two blond heads turned, and Giles motioned the real one back to what she was doing, while gaining the attention of the bot.  He pushed Drusilla off, into the path of the Buffybot, knowing the only one who had a hope of fighting fairly against Drusilla was the unable-to-be-thralled Buffybot.  Faith let out a nervous laugh, then swore furiously when she saw Oz point down the block.  
  
“Thanks, G.  I think we got more problems.”  She pulled him around to face the oncoming threat and Giles added his own thoughts to hers.    
  
“Bloody hell.”  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Wesley wrapped a hand around Willow’s throat, cutting off her air supply and ability to speak.  She struggled, writhing and wriggling in his hold, fingers scrabbling against his, trying to gain freedom.  He squeezed tighter, a sad look in his eyes.  
  
“I am sorry for doing this, but your actions haven’t given us much leeway.  It’s a shame really, because you’ve got enormous potential.”  Wesley was aware he was speaking more for his own benefit than Willow’s, who slumped forward as lack of oxygen became an issue.  
  
“Hopefully, we’ll be far away when you wake up.”  He propped her against the wall, moving down the hall to help Tara with Dawn and Connor.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Shrieking something about doubles in a high-pitched whine, Drusilla stamped her feet, in an effort to gain Angel’s attention.  He was too busy to even care about her distress, barely holding his own against Spike.  
  
Lawson had stepped into the fray once Glynnis got back on her feet, slamming her with a double fisted blow to the back of her head.  
  
What he and Spike missed, but had caught everyone else’s attention, from Oz to Giles, was the group of vampires headed in their direction; most of them wielding weapons.  The two Slayers shared a look, Faith shrugging at Buffy’s questioning gaze.  Giles handed a crossbow to Oz, shoving a handful of wooden arrows at him, saying, “Don’t worry about aim, just slow them down.”  
  
In the back of his mind, Giles was aware of the amount of supplies in the house, equally aware the girls were fighting Willow.  Thankful for once about Anya’s insistence upon having more than enough weapons to fight, he also knew there were fully loaded holy water pistols stashed in various spots.  Motioning to Oz, Giles pointed toward one corner of the porch and moved swiftly toward it, while the smaller man took the opposite side.    
  
Right now, it was all a numbers game.    
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike blocked the kick aimed at Buffy’s midsection, pivoting forward on his left heel, so that his right leg shielded her, then dropping to his knees in the next moment.  Angel tried again, intending to kick him on the chin, only Spike lifted his left arm, blocking Angel’s foot.  Grabbing the bigger vampire by the ankle, Spike spun him away, rising to his feet in the same motion.  With Angel still off balance, Spike kicked out with his left foot, catching Angel just above the back of his knee; his turn now to drop down.  
  
Angel rolled back, dropping off the porch, springing to his feet in one almost smooth motion.  
  
A deep chuckle sounded and Angel growled back.  “Feeling the burn yet, old man?  Been  a long time since you brawled like this.  Still remember how?”  
  
One of Angel’s minions fell into his side and Spike barely stopped to twist his neck, not bothering to wipe off the dust.  
  
“Some things you never forget, Spike.”  
  
“True, but I seem to recall someone always running, ‘less the odds favored his chances.”  
  
Angel grinned then, spreading his arms wide to encompass the fighting going on around them.  “Look around, boyo, see who’s got the advantage.”  
  
Just then, two more vampires exploded into dust and Spike laughed.  “Seems like those odds just keep changin’.”  
  
“You gonna stand around keeping score, Spike, or you gonna be useful?”  Buffy’s voice interrupted them and he grinned, knowing just by her words everything was fine.  
  
Another vampire got tossed his way and again, Spike barely exerted any effort to stake this one in the back.  “‘M getting to it, pet.  Just taking a breather.”  
  
“You don’t need to breathe, bleach boy.”  Faith cracked from somewhere over by the tree, where she was fighting off two females.  
  
Feigning surprise, Spike quipped, “Right you are.”  And before the words were finished, he’d thrown a left hook at Angel’s jaw, knocking him back a few steps.  
  
“C’mon, gramps, let’s you an’ me have a real go.”  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Oz hadn’t bothered counting, there were just too many.  Seemed like every vampire in Sunnydale had decided to get in on the action, word having gone out through the grapevine that Angelus was taking it to the Slayer.  More than half of them he recognized, wondering if they’d been sired in the last couple of days for just this purpose.  
  
He caught a glimpse of a vampire in the back, sort of directing the fledglings where to go and Oz focused his efforts on getting to him.  The crossbow vibrated and thumped in his hands, his musician’s fingers having no trouble with the strings.  Not really following Giles’ advice, Oz aimed for torsos, figuring sooner or later he’d get one through the heart.  
  
Three times he’d aimed for the vampire that reminded him of Trick, and each time his arrows had missed, hitting other vampires.  On the fourth try, Oz held his weapon steady, trained on the dark skinned vampire until he had a clear shot.  
  
Finally, after holding his breath for long minutes, the vampire moved, giving him a clear shot.  Oz fired, all the while urging his arrow to find its target.  The vampire looked up as the bolt slid into his chest and the last thing Toussaint saw was the vision of a small blue and orange haired man jumping up, pumping his fist and shouting, “Yes!”  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Hawkins paced impatiently in front of the Magic Box, waiting for his Sire to arrive.  Twice he nearly disregarded Jenner’s unspoken order to stay put, each time thinking better of it before his feet hit the corner.  
  
In his mind, he’d already said his final words to Glynnis.  Already let her go.  He knew, even if she did survive this idiotic plan of Angel’s, she wasn’t going to survive Jenner’s punishment.  Glynnis was doomed; no matter who struck the final blow.   Either way, she would be dust – probably before the night was through.  
  
He didn’t love her.  
  
He’d known it all along – hell, she’d known it.  They’d been together over forty years; since just after her turning and while he hadn’t loved her – there had been something on her side.  Maybe not love – but it was there.  
  
Hawkins stared blindly off into nothing, remembering the first time he’d laid eyes on her.  She’d been nearly starving, barely scraping by in post-war England, a Welsh girl far away from home.  Glynnis had gone to London, hoping to find work, only to be shuttled into dark factories working endless hours for little pay.  Her sad dark eyes had haunted him, reminding him too much of others he’d left behind.  
  
He hadn’t loved her – wouldn’t let himself –  yet he’d cared enough to bring her to Jenner’s attention.  
  
No, it wasn’t love.  
  
And yet his heart ached with the knowledge she’d be gone come daybreak.  
  
Still, it wasn’t love.  
  
And Hawkins knew, deep down, he wasn’t convincing himself at all.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Shifting her gaze from one Buffy to the other, Drusilla whined and growled in her throat, unable to wrap her mind around the vision in front of her.  She stalked around the bot, unnerved by its smile and unblinking stare.  Drusilla leaned in, snarling, whining a bit when the bot’s arm blocked her punch.  
  
“Don’t like this bad, evil thing.  Not natural.  Bolts and wires.  Puppet doll.”  
  
A long elegant hand circled the bot’s neck, and Drusilla dug her fingers into the skin-like covering, opening up long furrows.  Wires sparked here and there, and she struck again, her fingers wrapping around power lines inside the Buffybot’s neck.  
  
The bot’s eyes rolled up, showing white, and an involuntary jerk of shoulder and arm controls raced through it, knocking into Lawson, who’d jerked back in surprise.  His awkward motion allowed his opponent a clear shot at his jaw, while the bot’s arms flailed, slapping Drusilla across the face.  Drusilla’s fingers bunched together more wires and small wisps of smoke emerged from the furrows, causing more erratic movement from the bot.  Wiring fired, sparks arcing, heat melting the plasticine skin, peeling it away.  A small flame erupted, catching Drusilla’s fingertips and the vampire shrieked.  
  
Lawson reeled back, smelling smoke, away from Drusilla’s smoldering fingers, ducking his head.  His motion inadvertently saved them both, because Drusilla, distracted by Lawson, accidentally stuck her fingers in his opened mouth.  The bot didn’t fare as well, the wires beginning to smolder, sparking wildly.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Tara raced into the bedroom, heart pounding, breaths coming in short gasps.  “Oh Gods!  Where. . .  Dawnie?”  
  
“Over here.”  
  
She rounded the foot of the bed, spying the two figures huddled against the wall, Dawn’s arm wrapped protectively around Connor, who was crying softly.  “What’s going on?”  
  
“Can you get up?”  Tara crouched down, preparing to take Connor.  
  
Dawn grabbed her wrist.  “Tara, how bad is it?”  
  
“It’s bad, sweetie.  Willow’s broken in. . .  She got through the shields.  And – and Angel’s. . . I think Angel’s outside.”  
  
“Shit.”  She handed the baby off, and while Dawn was struggling to get to her feet, Wesley burst into the room.  
  
“I’m not sure how much time we have.  Luck seems to be running against us tonight.”  As Tara stepped to the side, Wesley lifted Dawn from the floor, his arms around her hips.  “Can you reset the wards for this room?”  
  
Tara managed to stutter,  “They’re still up. . . keyed. . . keyed to intent.”   
  
“That’s a bit of good news.”  
  
Between pain filled gasps, Dawn managed to croak out, “Buffy’s downstairs?”  
  
“Yes, Dawn.  She and everyone else are outside, fighting to keep us all safe.”  
  
“Kay.”  
  
Tara was pacing, rocking Connor and crooning to him tonelessly.  She caught Wesley’s eye over Dawn’s head and neither of them shied away from the truth.  
  
Willow was out of control and the wards, no matter how they were configured or reinforced, weren’t going to withstand a full-blown assault.  They were going to have to come up with an escape plan.  
  
The distinctive smell of burning ozone hit them simultaneously.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Giles had gone through all his arrows, completely disregarding his own advice to Oz.  He’d managed to dust half a dozen vampires on his own, methodically aiming and shooting calmly.  Despite his kill ratio, Giles was acutely aware of the numbers they were facing – and knew too, he and Oz had been aiming mostly at the fledglings, who were almost as interested in fighting each other as they were in battling the Slayers.  
  
Angling toward the hanging plants, which held a small cache of fully loaded holy water pistols, Giles watched while Buffy ducked under a punch, swung her short sword at the vampire’s leg, and when the vampire dropped his guard to block the sword with both hands, efficiently staked it with her left.  
  
 _Well done._   He felt a cool breeze move across the back of his neck and without flinching, Giles snapped his elbow back, knocking into Drusilla’s solar plexus, doubling her over.  
  
One handed, he gripped her loose hair, keeping her bent over, while firing a stream of holy water at the vampires circling in front of Faith.  Silently sending thanks to his father for insisting on marksmanship many years ago, Giles concentrated on hitting the vampires square on the back of the neck.  He watched while first one than another crumpled, disintegrating into dust.  Giles knew he only had a short period of time before Drusilla fought back, but until then he was determined not to let her ruin his aim or wreck his concentration.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Jenner could smell the fight blocks before he and Hawkins were in sight of Revello Drive.  As they neared, he could feel Faith’s presence, feel the growing emotions racing through the air and he realized he was growling, responding to her scent.  
  
Hawkins eyed him warily, though his voice was calm when he spoke.  “Are we going to intervene?”  
  
“Haven’t decided that.”  
  
“Then you might want to change your current look.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Hawkins pointed to his features, slipping into vampiric guise then back into his human face.  “You might want to watch that.”  
  
“Fuck.”  Jenner stopped in his tracks, inhaling deeply, trying to gain some semblance of control.  “Been a long time since I did that.”  
  
“All those Slayer vibes.”  
  
“Yeah.”  He started walking again, his pace swift and steady.  “You all right?”  
  
Taking his time before answering, Hawkins shook his head.  “Not sure.  Glynnis . . . she made her choice, and she went against her sire.”  
  
“She’s still your woman.”  
  
A deep sigh and a softly worded, “That she is”, was all the response Jenner got.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
A feral scream rent the air when the dark skinned vampire disintegrated, raising the hairs of everyone within hearing distance.  Oz froze, instinctively knowing whatever vampire emitted that noise would be looking for revenge.  
  
Grabbing the rest of his arrows, Oz began firing, aiming for any vampire who’d stopped for the primal sound.  
  
The arrows ran out quickly, and Oz found himself scrambling for some other weapon when a small delicate hand wrapped itself around his wrist.    
  
His head snapped up, straight into the snarling face of a small, almost child-sized female vampire.


	63. Never hit softly

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter 63  Never hit softly  
  
  
Providence chooses its instruments.   
Not the other way around.   
Fate brought you to that battle.  
Destiny demanded your actions.   
Perhaps you were merely a tool of Divine Will.  
    Rev Bem, Andromeda  
  
The unforgivable crime is soft hitting.   
Do not hit at all if it can be avoided; but never hit softly.  
    Theodore Roosevelt   
  
The art of war is simple enough.   
Find out where your enemy is.   
Get at him as soon as you can.   
Strike him as hard as you can   
and as often as you can, and keep moving on.   
    Ulysses S. Grant   
  
It is a fatal error to enter any  
war without the will to win it.   
    Douglas MacArthur   
  
Oh the war is common cry, Pick up you swords and fly.   
The sky is filled with good and bad that mortals never know.   
Oh, well, the night is long the beads of time pass slow,   
Tired eyes on the sunrise, waiting for the eastern glow.   
The pain of war cannot exceed the woe of aftermath,   
The drums will shake the castle wall, the ring wraiths ride in black, Ride on.  
Sing as you raise your bow, shoot straighter than before.   
No comfort has the fire at night that lights the face so cold.   
    Led Zeppelin, The Battle of Evermore  
**_  
  
  
  
He was hard pressed to keep up with the hounds, the scent of the betrayer full in their noses.  
  
She wasn’t far – that much even he could sense – and so he let the hounds loose.  
  
The alpha pair raced off, the younger ones ranged behind them, baying and howling for justice.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Less than a block away from the battle scene, Jenner realized he and Hawkins weren’t the only ones heading in that direction.  
  
Once he’d figured that out, it took him far less time to realize they were the only two likely to be on the Slayer’s side.  
  
He said as much to Hawkins, who merely raised an eyebrow.  
  
Before he could make a remark, Jenner forestalled him, “I know.  I said I wasn’t going to.  It hardly seems like a fair fight, though.”  He gestured to the small house, whose front yard currently resembled a war zone.  
  
Hawkins smothered the laugh threatening.  “Can’t let Spike have all the fun.”  
  
“Indeed.”  Jenner flashed him a look, cracked his knuckles and headed into the fray.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Faith had her back to the big tree in the front yard, preventing anyone from getting at her from behind as she methodically staked every vampire she could.  She’d been fighting with her hair free until it got tangled as first Drusilla then a second vampire used it against her.  She’d knotted it up around itself, using a piece of material she’d ripped off some random vampire, tying it up as best she could.  Once she’d done that, she got herself over to the far side of the property, away from where Buffy and Spike were fighting.  She had a vague idea Lawson had been near her, but then she lost sight of him.  
  
Four vampires surrounded her in a semi-circle and she was fighting off a surge of panic, as first one  then another disintegrated before her eyes.  Faith looked up, trying to figure out what happened when she caught sight of Giles, aiming a glow-in the dark water pistol at another vampire.  She laughed, realizing he’d been the one to take out the others and she swung the fourth vampire into the path of the holy water.  Grinning up at him, Faith waved, turned around to face the next wave of vampires, only to realize there were no others in her immediate vicinity.    
  
Inhaling deeply, her eyes scanned the front yard, calculating numbers and where she’d be most likely to help.  Both Buffy and Spike were holding their own and didn’t need her assistance.  Giles looked to be okay with Drusilla, and she could hear Lawson fighting with someone off to her left.  Scanning the porch one more time she caught a glimpse of Oz, who was fighting a small female vampire.  
  
A scream from inside the house drew her attention and Faith turned, running full out for the front door.  _Might as well go see about Willow. . ._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Every noise reverberated inside his battered head, echoing the pain from all the wounds he was sporting.  Xander knew his eyes were swollen shut, and still he persisted in trying to see, to pry them open to get a glimpse of something. . . anything to tell him what was going on.  He could hear the sounds of fighting – he thought they were outside the front door, though he had no way of knowing for certain, because he wasn’t even sure where he was.  Someone had rescued him from Angel – that much he knew.  Didn’t know who and didn’t know where his rescuer had gone, didn’t even know if the person was standing right in front of him.  
  
His head felt like he’d been drinking for days then fallen flat on his nose.  It was broken, because the pain was excruciating every time he tried turning his head.  From the feel of the chair underneath him, he was in Buffy’s dining room, sitting . . .  if he moved his hand, he should. . .  _Yup.  Table._   A pain-filled sigh of relief sounded from him and he knew exactly where he was.    
  
Whoever had rescued him had brought him directly into the dining room, placing him at the corner of the table, facing the door.  _Okay.  So that’s good.  So to my right. . ._   Xander reached out with his hand and felt the brush of the lace curtains. _Good.  So there’s the outside window._  
  
Glass shattered in, toward him, and Xander flinched back, pushing against the table and moving it a few inches.  His heart pounded, and the pain in his head increased until all he could hear was his own harsh breathing.  Nothing else happened though and he settled a bit, though he still pushed himself further away from the window.  
 _  
No vamp is gonna get a taste of me tonight . . ._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Angel swung a meaty right fist at Spike’s jaw, catching the smaller vampire on the chin.  Spike stumbled back, somehow managing to stay on his feet. He wiped his hand across his face, sucking the blood from his hand as his low chuckle sounded in the air.  “That the best you can do, old man?”  
  
When Angel stepped forward, fist poised to strike again, Spike sidestepped, ducking low, at the same time bringing his own hand up to catch Angel’s.  
  
In a show of sheer strength, Spike gripped Angel’s wrist, forcing the bigger vampire back, his arm bending at an uncomfortable angle.  Spike’s grin got wider, as pain blossomed on Angel’s face and he began speaking.  “Does this hurt, Angelus?”  Spike stepped closer, bumping against Angel.  “Not gonna get away with your shit this time around.  Gonna pay for what you did.”  
  
Angel snarled, fangs snapping close to Spike’s head.  “You can try, boy, but you’ve never beaten me before.”  
  
Spike stepped in closer, a feral glint in his blue eyes.  Pushing hard, Spike didn’t let up until he heard bones snap.  “There’s always a first time for everythin’.”  
  
A howl split the air and Angel swung his free hand up, knocking away Spike’s hold on him.  “Fuck!”  He kicked out, booting Spike’s shin hard.  Spike dropped to his knees, his own howl of pain shaking the night.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The snarling, writhing female vampire at his feet twisted and turned, trying to break the hold Giles had on her hair.  Giles had fisted his hand in her dark tresses, holding her just at the nape of her neck, hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.  Her nails dug into his leg and still he held her tight.  Every time she tried turning her head to dig her fangs into him, Giles tightened his grip, forcing her closer and closer to the ground.  
  
The vampires around Faith were gone, dusted between their combined efforts and she was scanning the fights on the lawn.  Somehow in the melee, they’d turned the tide, and their opponents had shrunk to more manageable numbers.   
  
His momentary distraction allowed Drusilla the opening she’d been waiting for.  With her hands wrapped firmly around Giles’ shin, she sank her fangs into his leg, just above his knee.  Giles buckled, falling heavily onto her.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy was half-aware of the fight between Spike and Angel, her eyes drawn in their direction every time she found herself without an opponent.  
  
She flinched when Angel’s fist connected with Spike’s jaw, her own answering grin wreathing her features when Spike laughed in response.  Spike’s counter blow occurred in plain sight and Buffy was hard-pressed to stifle the cheer burbling in her throat.  A pair of vampires intent on approaching Faith crossed into her line of vision and Buffy lost sight of the two master vampires, focusing on her own battle.  
  
When she was done dusting those two, she looked up in time to see Angel looming over a downed Spike.  Buffy’s cry of ‘No!’  was very nearly drowned out by the shriek sounding from the house.  
  
Completely focused on Spike, Buffy raced forward, missing Faith’s mad dash into the house.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Oz looked across at the vampire holding his arm, and a frisson of fear raced through him.  His wolf responded to the emotion, lupine adrenaline racing through his system, counteracting the fear.  His eyes changed and a low growl rumbled up from his chest.  
  
Surprised by first the smell of fear and then a feral growl rivaling her own, Rebecca snapped her jaws at the man.  He was short, not much taller than she and yet he pulled away from her easily.  Rebecca reeled back, preparing to strike when he pushed her, throwing her backward off the porch.  
  
Screaming her grief and fury to the heavens, Rebecca sprang to her feet and attacked with claws and teeth, going after the odd little man who had killed her sire.    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Wesley stared at the closed door, knowing their escape route was blocked.  There were two windows opposite Dawn’s bed; they appeared to be their only way out.  He had no idea why Willow was intent on the children, but she was.  Leaving Dawn to lean heavily on her dresser, Wesley swiftly lifted up the window and gauged the distance to the ground.  
  
Thankfully, the roof sloped gently, making it possible for him to stand out there.  The biggest problem was Dawn, she might not be able to maneuver herself out of the window or off the roof.  He stuck his head back inside and he could hear Willow chanting rapidly from the other side of the door.  
  
Tara had rigged a makeshift sling for Connor, tying him into one of Dawn’s sweaters then looping it somehow around her neck.  She had one arm slung around Dawn’s waist, helping her to the window, the whole time whispering strength and healing spells, hoping something would help Dawn.  
  
“Dawn, I know this is going to hurt, and I’m sorry for that, but we need to get you both away from danger.”  
  
“Yeah, got that memo,  Wes.”  She leaned against the window frame, gasping.  “How’re we gonna do this?”  
  
“I’m not sure.”  The walls shuddered, and everyone stared at the door for a second.  
  
Dawn grimaced, sliding one leg over the windowsill.  “Just help me.”  
  
Wesley grabbed her, steadying her.  Once she was through, Wesley wrapped his arms around her, supporting her.  Dawn’s breath came in quick pants and in a completely unconscious gesture, he brushed a kiss across her brow.  
  
Tara scrambled through, first passing Connor to Wesley.  She landed awkwardly, almost losing her balance, although she quickly recovered.  
  
Handing Connor back to Tara, Wesley moved to the roof’s edge.  When the house shuddered again, he wobbled on his feet, while both girls stifled screams.  The door creaked ominously and making a quick decision, Wesley dropped down, sitting on the edge.  Smiling grimly back at the girls, he said, “Not so far to the ground.  We’ll do the same here.  Dawn you come first, then Tara can drop Connor into my arms.”  
  
“Are you sure about this?”  Dawn peered over the side, a look of disbelief on her face.  
  
“Short of facing Willow, I don’t see another alternative.  It’ll be fine, Dawn.”  With those words, Wesley slid off the roof, rolling twice when he hit the ground.  
  
He was back on his feet quickly, reaching up for Dawn.  His fingertips brushed the underside of the roof and Dawn inhaled as deeply as she could, shared a look with Tara and sat down slowly.  Trying not to let the pain overwhelm her, Dawn stared down into Wesley’s face.  Swinging her legs off the roof, she fought the vertigo making her head swim.  
  
“You sure about this?”  
  
“Yes, Dawn, I’m sure.  Trust me.  I promise I won’t drop you.”  
  
She grumbled something he didn’t quite hear, though she gave him a grim smile.  “All right, Wes.  Here I come.”  
  
Using her arms, Dawn pushed off, squealing when the pain flashed through her.  Before she even realized she’d actually done it, she was being held securely in Wesley’s arms.  He held her tightly, dropping another kiss on her brow.  “Good girl.”  
  
Their euphoria was short-lived, because in the next second, the walls shuddered for the third time, debris shot through the window and Tara started teetering, trying to protect Connor from flying pieces of wood and glass.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Faith ran to the house, jumping over the slumped, unconscious Harmony, only stopping short when strange noises sounded in the dining room.  
  
Xander was sitting in one of the chairs, his face a mass of blood and snot, both eyes swollen shut.  He was holding another chair out in front of him, legs out.  “Who’s there?”  
  
“Relax, Xand, it’s just me.”  
  
“Who?  I don’t . . .”  
  
“Chill, dude, you’re all safe and sound.  Most of the vamps are gone.”  
  
“Faith?  Is that you? What the _hell_?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s me.  I gotta fly though, check out what’s shaking upstairs.  You seen Willow?”  
  
“Willow’s here?”  
  
“Never mind, dude, just sit tight.”  
  
Faith turned away, heading for the second floor, where all the noise was coming from.  
  
She passed a barely conscious Anya, who was cradling her arm and trying to get away from the open doorway.  Faith lifted her up, quickly depositing her on the couch.  “She’s upstairs, going after Dawn and the baby.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“Be careful.  She’s really powerful.”  
  
Faith nodded once and was running up the stairs when the house shuddered.  She held onto the railing until it stopped, then kept going.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Angel lifted his foot, swinging it back, aiming for a downed Spike, when his intended victim suddenly wasn’t there.  
  
Spike rolled forward, underneath Angel’s raised foot, springing to his feet to Angel’s left.  Just as Buffy’s fist slammed into Angel from the right, Spike hit him with a hard left.  Between them, the bigger vampire was pole-axed and he faltered, weaving on unsteady feet.   
  
Buffy circled around him, her eyes scanning over Spike’s form, checking him for injuries.  He quickly did the same, his eyes warm.  “You alright?”  
  
“I’m good.”  
  
Angel moved to throw a punch at Buffy, which Spike effectively blocked.  “Oi, Peaches, I’m having a conversation with m’lady.”  Spike threw a combination of punches, driving Angel back, “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”  Another set and Angel stumbled around the side of the house.  “Oh right, no need for manners in the peat bog.”  
  
The big vampire snarled, regaining his balance, fighting back.  One lucky right snapped Spike’s head back, catching the smaller vampire just under his left eye.  
  
The house shuddered behind them and Buffy’s attention shifted upward when a familiar cry sounded.  “Oh, my God!  Spike!”  
  
She watched, too far away to help, as Dawn dropped down from the roof into Wesley’s arms.  Frozen with fear, Buffy couldn’t move until Dawn was safely on the ground.  She raced forward when the house shuddered again and debris came shooting out of the window toward Tara and Connor, who were still on the roof.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Lawson reeled back, his ears ringing from an unexpectedly strong blow from Glynnis, who grinned in response.  
  
“Traitor.”  She hissed at him, stalking toward him.  “Going against your sire to side with Slayers.”  
  
Shaking his head, Lawson growled back, “I _am_ fighting with my sire, unlike you.  Where is Jenner anyway?”  
  
Glynnis snarled in response, swiping at his side, her aim off when Lawson hit the side of her face.  
  
She stumbled and he took advantage, raining more blows on her.  Glynnis was down on her knees, still spewing venom, when Jenner heard her voice.    
  
“Glynnis.”  
  
Freezing, she dared not look up, knowing her fate was sealed.  
  
“Look at me, Glynnis.”  
  
Reluctantly she stared up at her sire, her eyes filling with some unknown emotion.  Involuntarily her eyes darted about, looking for assistance, a sympathetic face.  Knowing who she searched for, Jenner spoke again.  “He won’t help you, Glynnis.  As much as you want him too, Hawkins isn’t going to interfere.”  
  
“Do it then.  I’ll not beg you.”  
  
“So be it.”  
  
Jenner reached out, lifting a discarded sword from the ground.  
  
Without another word to either Glynnis or Hawkins, who watched from behind her, Jenner swung the sword, slicing cleanly into her neck.


	64. Let slip the dogs of war

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 64.  Let slip the dogs of war  
  
  
Follow me if I advance  
Kill me if I retreat  
Avenge me if I die  
     Mary Matalin and James Carville, All’s Fair:   
    Love, War, and Running for President, epigraph (from a Vietnamese battle cry)  
  
Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge...   
Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice  
Cry 'havoc!' and let slip the dogs of war...  
    Julius Caesar, act III, scene1  
  
The essence of war is violence.   
Moderation in war is imbecility.  
    John Arbuthnot Fisher  
  
In the heat of battle it ceases to be an idea for which we fight.   
Or a flag. Rather we fight for the man on our left,   
and we fight for the man on our right.   
And when armies are scattered and the empires fall away,   
all that remains is the memory of those precious moments   
that we spent side by side.  
    Jack Durrance, The Four Feathers (2002)  
  
So what now, Jack Sparrow?   
Are we to be two immortals locked in an epic   
battle until Judgment Day and trumpets sound?  
    Barbarossa, Pirates of the Caribbean, the Curse of the Black Pearl  
  
_**  
  
  
  
Willow stepped through the destroyed door, ignoring the splinters and jagged strips of wood hanging from loosened hinges.  With an air of extreme peevishness, she surveyed the damage, then turned around with a slight flourish, only to find her captive audience had fled the scene.  
  
“Huh.  Where did everyone go?”  Pursing her lips together, Willow looked around.  “It’s really no fun when you all run away.”  
  
Spying the shattered window, Willow headed for it.  “Is this how you all left the building?”  
  
She stuck her head out, looking around.  “Hhhhmmmm.  Where is everyone?”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
His long stride ate up the distance and yet the hounds still kept pace far ahead of him.  The sounds of fighting were now clear, though he couldn’t see any of the participants, still he knew what was occurring.  
  
The events his Lord had seen – pitting the Chosen One and her champion against the betrayer and her un-intentioned allies had begun.  
  
Control was at the root of this conflict – though some of the participants thought otherwise, true it was.  
  
Control over the Hellmouth, control over another’s life; all that and more.  
  
Balance was the key to all things, most especially when dealing in absolutes.  This dimension teetered on the knife’s edge between imbalance and balance, and the betrayer had unknowingly, with her performance of Ceridwen’s ritual to restore the dead Chosen One, put the dimension in this predicament.  
  
For one reason alone.  For want of control.  
  
A deep sigh rumbled from his barrel chest, lifting the long hair of his scraggly beard.  He was only to bear witness, only to retrieve the betrayer and bring her before his Lord, so that the one to sit in judgment of her actions could decide her fate.  
  
Naught more.  
  
And time it was.  
  
The hounds bayed into the night and a grim smile crossed his normally stoic features.  This would not be pretty . . . although it would be fitting.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Momentarily distracted by Buffy’s cry, Spike shifted, following the line of her outstretched arm.  Dawn was on the ground, being held protectively in Wesley’s arms while debris flew toward Tara and Connor, and as Spike was about to vault onto the roof to rescue the pair, something exploded against his head and everything went black.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Tara huddled down, wrapping both arms around Connor, shielding him with her own body.  Two large chunks of door narrowly missed her, but she wasn’t as lucky with the shards of broken glass from the windows.  Tiny little cuts dotted her neck and shoulders, and a large triangular piece of glass was lodged in the middle of her shoulder, numbing her left arm.  Tara knew it was bad, because she could feel the blood oozing down her back and her fingers were tingling, though not in a good way.  
  
None of that stopped her from moving around to the front of the house, warily watching her footing.  She dare not call out, fearing Willow was closer than the others.  She also didn’t  know what was happening on the front lawn.  The last thing she wanted was the wrong kind of attention – she’d rather avoid that.  
  
Connor whimpered in her arms and she ducked her head, whispering against his cheek, trying to keep him quiet.  
  
Something heavy landed behind her, the hairs on the back of her neck rising as her heartbeat accelerated, her heart nearly pounding from her chest.  Quiet terror filled her and Tara refused to turn around – even as the voice she once loved and now feared sounded from just behind her.  
  
“Hello, baby,”  Willow purred in her ear and Tara fought the dread surging through her.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Hawkins stared at the spot where Glynnis’ ashes fell to earth, unable to process what had just occurred.  He’d known – understood and agreed with Jenner.  _And yet. . .  
_  
Yet Glynnis had shared his bed for years, been his companion, his lover, his woman.  They’d shared blood, shared more than just. . .   Glynnis had been a part of him, more than just sharing a Sire.  
  
He couldn’t look away.  
  
Couldn’t forgive her for what she’d done.  
  
Another part of him hated his Sire.  Hated Jenner for doing what was necessary.  
  
He hadn’t loved Glynnis.  
  
Hadn’t allowed himself.  
  
But he did.  
  
Hawkins lifted his eyes to Jenner’s and fought tears.  Jenner lifted a hand, moved to cross the distance separating them when Hawkins stepped back, away from his Sire, shaking his head.  
  
Jenner watched Hawkins go, realizing too late how the other vampire felt.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy reached Dawn seconds after Wesley put her down, wrapping her arms tightly around the younger Summers.  “Ow, Buffy, that hurts.”  
  
“C’mon, Dawnie, we need to get you out of here.”  
  
“Wait, don’t. . .  Wait, Buffy.”  Dawn pulled her back, pointing toward the roof.  “Tara’s still up there.”  
  
Wesley looked around frantically for some way to get back up on the roof, rambling all the while.  “She’s got Connor and Willow’s up there.  We have to. . .”  
  
“Right.  Wes, gimme a boost.”  Buffy waited just under the eaves until Wesley figured out what she wanted.  
  
“Ready?”  He stooped over, hands laced together, standing up when Buffy stepped onto the cradle of his hands.  “On three.”  
  
He tensed, preparing to lift her when she bounced once, lightly stepped on his shoulder and up onto the roof.  Buffy rolled onto it, coming neatly to her feet.  She never saw the blow to the back of Spike’s head, her attention firmly fixed on the three people in front of her.  
  
Just as Willow reached for Tara, Buffy spoke, startling the redhead.  “Hey, Wills.  Whatcha doing?”  
  
Her voice was deliberately nonchalant, enough to set Willow’s temper flaring again.  Sarcasm and disdain dripped from her words as Willow turned to face the Slayer.  “Buffy.  You really don’t want to get involved.  I just need to talk to Tara and get rid of some unwanted baggage.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike snapped back to consciousness in time to see Buffy roll onto the roof, spring lightly to her feet and move.  Angel’s low chuckle sounded from behind him and Spike recovered  enough  of his wits to duck, avoiding a second debilitating blow from behind.  He reeled drunkenly, almost falling over, though he stayed out of Angel’s reach.  Shaking his head to clear it, Spike leaned one hand against the house, letting Angel’s taunts wash over him.  _Gotta. . . c’mon Spike, get your ass together.  Your girls are in danger. . ._  
  
Letting a surge of anger wash through him, Spike eyed the big, posturing vampire.  Angel was standing in front of him, one-handedly swinging a baseball bat in front of him, bragging about what he would do once he beat Spike.  An inelegant snort erupted from Spike and he shook his head again.  “Right, Peaches, talk all you like, coz’ talkin’ is all you’re gonna be able to do.”  
  
“Oh, I’ll be able to do much more than talk.  Who’s gonna stop me?  You?  C’mon, Willie, you can barely stand up now, how the hell are you going to keep fighting?”  Angel grinned, showing his teeth and Spike smiled back.  
  
“Never know, I just might surprise you.”  Straightening up away from the wall, Spike struck out with a hard left, catching Angel just below the chin.  “Should know by now old man, unless I’m dust, I’m not done.”  
  
He launched a quick right as a follow-up, idly remarking, “An’ even then I might jus’ come back to finish the job.”  
  
Angel lurched away, hitting his back against the tree, though he kept hold of the bat.  He tried bringing it up, but Spike anticipated the move and wrenched it away.  “Really now, Liam, do you have to use this?  Are you compensatin’ for somethin’ lacking?”  
  
An enraged growl sounded from the older vampire’s chest and Angel pushed off from the tree, his momentum propelling Spike back into the house.  The walls shuddered a bit from the impact, while Spike just chuckled.  “Never could keep your head in a fight.”  
  
Spike brought his knee up, hitting Angel square in the balls.  The older vampire dropped to his knees, cupping his genitals, emitting soft whimpering growls.  Spike stood over him, an enigmatic look on his face.  “Get up, you fucking git.  Get to your feet so I can kill you proper like.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Faith raced down the hallway, knowing somehow she wasn’t going to get there in time to help anyone.  _Too frickin’ late. . . shit, shit, shit.  This is wicked bad._  
  
Dawn’s room was trashed, the door wrecked and smashed to splinters, the two windows completely blown out and debris was strewn all over the roof.  She could hear one voice, and it sounded like it might have been Willow’s, but Faith wasn’t entirely sure of it.  A flash of intuition surged through her and Faith whirled around, sprinting for Joyce’s old bedroom.  
  
Peeking out the window, Faith could see Tara holding onto the baby while Willow turned to speak to someone behind her.  Slipping out the window as quietly as she could, Faith motioned Tara to silence.  They pantomimed their intentions, with Faith leading Tara over to the edge while Buffy kept Willow’s attention.  Over Willow’s shoulder, Faith could see Buffy, trying to keep the other girl distracted.  The two Slayers shared a look, and though Buffy didn’t change her expression, Faith knew she’d understood.  
  
Faith leaned over, barely keeping her balance, and her movement caught Wesley’s eye.  He moved to the spot directly beneath her while Faith took the baby from Tara.  Connor stared up at her while Tara scrambled to safety, dropping heavily into Wesley’s waiting arms.    
  
She was just about to drop Connor down to Wesley when Willow spun around, pointing a finger at the pair.  
  
“He’s part of the problem, Buffy, and I’m going to start fixing things with him.”  
  
A low chant started under her breath, while Willow held Buffy off with her free hand.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Exerting every ounce of pressure possible, Giles pushed down onto Drusilla’s back, forcing her flat against the porch floorboards.  He ignored the pain in his leg, using his good one to press into the middle of her back.  She was snarling, writhing underneath him, twisting and turning like a snake, scrabbling for some way to roll over so she could fight back.  
  
Blood was seeping into his pants leg, saturating the material.  Giles knew his strength was faltering, the muscles of his arms trembling from the strain and his eyes were starting to blur.  
  
Drusilla partially slid out from under his hold and the fear lent him momentary force, but Giles knew it was only temporary.  He was nearing the end of his rope when strong arms lifted him up and a slightly familiar voice sounded in his ears.  
  
“Need some help, sir?”  
  
Giles looked up to see Lawson’s slight smile change to deep concern.  
  
“You should get inside.  You’re bleeding.”  
  
He set Giles on his feet, gave him a slight push toward the front door, then turned to face Drusilla.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Jenner felt the surge of grief seconds after Hawkins fled.  For long moments he stared after his childe’s retreating form, wondering how – or if – they were ever going to adjust.  Normally, he was fairly observant, able to gauge people and vampires quickly.  They’d always seen eye to eye, he and Hawkins, which was one of the reasons he’d been turned.  
  
However, his reaction just now had caught Jenner by surprise.  Unaware and unknowing of the depths of the other vampire’s feelings, he’d acted as he’d deemed best under the circumstances.  Hawkins had loved Glynnis.  Jenner cursed himself for being all kinds of a fool for not ever entertaining the possibility.  Had he realized – instead of dusting her – he might have just drained her and kept her that way, always on the brink until he was satisfied she’d learned her lesson – for Hawkins.  
  
Moving to follow the other vampire, Jenner got no further than the edge of the yard when the Cwn Annwn raced toward him, howling and baying after their prey.  He stiffened, unexpected and more than half forgotten prayers to the gods for the hounds to pass him racing through his brain, Jenner vainly tried to appear unafraid.  He’d seen dogs before, even rabid ones – though these were no ordinary canines.  
  
These were the hounds of hell, in full hunt.  
  
The biggest of them was close to six feet in height, easily able to reach ten feet on its hind legs.  Each one sported fangs sharp enough and strong enough to sever limbs in a single bite.  Jenner shivered, visibly reacting when the hounds sniffed at him and kept going.  
  
Low and ominous growls sounded as their quarry’s scent filled the air.  
  
He turned slowly, unwilling to startle the hounds, when movement in the corner of his eye diverted his attention.  
  
Faith was teetering on the roof’s edge, a squirming bundle clutched to her chest.  His jaw fell open as some invisible force lifted her up, dangling her mid-air high up over the ground.    
  
Where the hounds were gathered.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Ignoring the sound of Willow’s droning voice, Faith stepped closer to the edge, not wanting to throw the baby, intending to just gently drop him down to Wesley.  Her eyes were fixed firmly on the edge, so she missed the small piece of glass underfoot.  She slid, overcompensated the other way and only stopped her fall by lodging her other foot into the gutter lining the roof.  Faith wobbled, fighting her instinct to fling out her arms and regain her balance that way.  
  
Connor let loose a frightened wail, startled by the sudden movement.  Just as Faith got her balance, the air closed in around her, blocking every sound except the hash rasp of her own breath. Suddenly she found herself in the air, hovering over the grass.  
  
Only there was no grass, just a seething, rolling, snarling bunch of really big dogs.  
  
Wind began lashing at her and she cradled the baby closer, his head shielded against her breasts, her arms wrapped protectively around him.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Giles collapsed just inside the doorway, amid the destruction marking Willow’s passage through the house.  The change in pressure slowed the flow of blood from Drusilla’s bite, though now that he could relax, Giles felt the pain and stress begin to crest through him.  He fought the effects of shock, trying to follow what was occurring away from his line of sight.  
  
Lawson had gone right after Drusilla, blocking her from reaching Giles.  The two were trading vicious blows, the vampiress enraged over being thwarted.  
  
A low growl, followed by a high-pitched shriek caught his attention and Giles struggled to find the source of the inhuman noise.  Oz stepped into view, bringing with him his opponent, who looked no bigger than a child.  A hard hit nearly knocked Oz off his feet, though he recovered quickly, landing a heavy blow of his own.  
  
Another ear-piercing shriek sounded from the female and Oz flinched.  Taking advantage of his reaction, the female struck, raking her sharp nails down the side of Oz’ face.  
  
Seconds before it happened, Giles knew.  The air around Oz seemed to fall in upon him, then explode outward as the wolf took control.  Oz morphed, allowing the beast free rein.  
  
The small vampire never knew what hit her.  Within instants, the wolf attacked, gaping jaws striking out, rending limbs, going straight for the throat and heart.  Blood sprayed everywhere, coating Giles so it looked like even his clothing had the chicken pox.  The cries died when the wolf ripped through vocal cords.  With her throat almost severed, Rebecca no longer fought back.  
  
Throat clenched between powerful jaws, the wolf shook his prey from side to side, biting hard.  Giles watched, horrified by the sight, nearly jumping out of his skin when a hand touched his shoulder.  
  
“Don’t watch.  You’ll have nightmares for weeks.”  Anya stared down at him, and Giles pulled off his blood splattered glasses, squinting back up at her.   
  
“Oz will never forgive himself.”  
  
“Yes, he will.  It’s either him or her and frankly, Oz is a much better person.  He spends money regularly and. . .” Anya’s voice trailed off and she changed the subject.  “I hurt my arm.  I don’t think it’s broken, but I can’t help you stand if you’re injured.  Are you injured?”  
  
“Drusilla bit me.”  Giles looked away from her intense gaze, only to realize Oz and the vampire were both gone.  “Do you suppose he’ll be uncontrollable for a bit?”  
  
A huffed sigh escaped her.  “I don’t know.  I almost don’t care.  I’m worried about you, Giles, you let an evil vampire get a hold of you.”  
  
Despite her earlier words about her injured arm, Anya knelt down next to him, her left arm encircling his shoulder.  “We need to clean the bite.  Where is it?”  
  
Without waiting for his answer, Anya pulled and prodded until she got him up on his feet.  “C’mon, Rupert, I need to see that.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Willow’s chanting grew in tempo, the unknown words rolling faster and faster off her tongue, while the air lashing Faith and Connor increased.  
  
Jenner drifted toward the others, his eyes fixed on Faith, his feet taking him to where he might possibly be able to help her.  There was no fear on Faith’s face, only a grim sort of determination.  He watched while she tightened her arms around whatever she had a hold of  – and it wasn’t until he heard the girl standing next to him muttering about a baby that he understood what she held.  
  
There was still fighting going on, notably Spike and Angel and part of Jenner felt he should at least be paying attention to them – since they were both Aurelians – but he couldn’t make himself move.  
  
The words increased, the wind whipped harder, the dark witch raised both hands over her head and Faith plummeted to the ground.


	65. Wild Justice

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 65.  Wild Justice  
  
Let’s kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;  
Let’s carve him as a dish fit for the gods,  
Not hew him as a carcase fit for hounds.   
    Julius Caesar, act II, sc. I   
  
If you hit a snake and don’t kill it,   
you’ll be sorry later on.   
    Chinese proverb.  
  
Revenge is a kind of wild justice,   
which the more a man’s nature runs to,   
the more ought law to weed it out.   
    Francis Bacon, Of Revenge, Essays (1597-1625).   
  
No more tears now; I will think upon revenge.   
    Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland   
  
No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize;  
Revenge should have no bounds.  
    Hamlet act IV, scene vii  
  
Those wars are unjust   
which are undertaken without provocation.   
For only a war waged for revenge or defense can be just.   
    Marcus Tullius Cicero, De re publica, 35._**  
  
  
  
  
  
Somehow she managed to help him into the living room, telling him to sit still while she got the first aid kit.  Neither of them were aware of Xander’s presence in the dining room, the noise from outside more of a distraction than his soft breathing.  Anya cut Giles’ pants, ripping them all the way up his leg, exposing Drusilla’s bite mark.  She clucked and tsked, turning her head sideways to get a better look at the damage.  “Well, Rupert, it’s not as bad as I thought.”  
  
“How so?”  Giles tried peering down at his leg, but Anya’s head kept blocking him.  
  
“I expected her to have bit deeper.”  She gently touched it, trying not to inflict any more pain.  “How come she didn’t bite harder?”  
  
“I was hardly going to give her much of an opportunity to bite very hard.”  Giles winced when Anya poured peroxide over his leg.  “Besides, I had a rather tight grip on her at the time.”  
  
“Not enough of one.  Really, Rupert, you can’t keep taking chances like this.  You aren’t superhuman.”  She lifted tear-filled eyes to his.  “I wouldn’t like it if something terrible happened to you.”  
  
“Nor I you.”  He smiled at her, which ended in a grimace.  
  
“Do you mean that?  Don’t say that unless you really mean it.”  Anya stared at him, teary-eyed and trembly lips, and Giles was lost.  He couldn’t help his next action.  
  
With a gentle hand under her chin, Rupert lifted Anya’s head toward his and kissed her deeply.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Angel looked up at Spike, anger flaring in his dark eyes and Spike grinned, nudging the older vampire with his foot.  “Get on your feet.”  
  
He started to rise, lunging upwards, preparing to rush back at Spike, but the younger vampire anticipated the movement and danced back out of his reach.  Angel rushed forward anyway, unable to stop his forward movement, arms windmilling wildly.  
  
Angel’s right fist caught Spike across his upper chest, which he pushed off easily.  Neither vampire was using full strength, the blows and pushes barely glancing until Angel righted himself.  Regaining his balance and finding his feet, Angel swung hard, catching Spike along his jaw line.  
  
Blood spurted out, filling Spike’s mouth and the scent of it maddened him.  _Not this fuckin’ time, Peaches.  ‘S not happenin’.  
_  
Reacting instantly, Spike arched back, then snapped a left hook at Angel, driving him backward.  Taking advantage of Angel’s surprise, Spike stepped into a follow-up right cross, hitting him hard.  
  
With both hands on Angel’s shoulders, Spike pulled him close, head-butting him, then  throwing him into the tree.  Angel’s back hit hard, his head banging twice against the unforgiving trunk.  The ferocity of Spike’s attack surprised Angel and he knew Spike wasn’t going to give up his momentary advantage.  He tried fighting back, but his muscles were sluggish, his reflexes slow.  He didn’t remember Spike being this strong or this fast.  If he didn’t do something soon, Spike was going to win this fight.  
  
“Not gonna beat me this time.”  Spike stepped in close, hitting Angel twice. He grabbed him by the shoulders again, this time throwing him hard into the house.  Spike grinned, then grabbed Angel’s head, snapping his neck.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She was fighting against immobility.  The air was so thick she couldn’t move, could barely breathe.  Her fingers tightened around the infant in her arms.  It was the only thing she thought was tangible in the whole world.  The feel of soft shallow breathing across her chest, tiny fingers wrapped around her shirt and in her hair and the terrible softness of his skin.  Nothing else existed, save those things.    
Faith could see and breathe, could feel Connor in her arms, but everything else was separated from them by a huge elastic barrier that moved and swayed with them.  Inside the barrier, wind roared and whipped, though the baby seemed untouched.  Tiny stinging cuts opened on her skin and still the baby was safe.  She stared down at the others, knowing they were trying to help her and yet unable to do so.  Tara was chanting softly under her breath, desperate to counter-act whatever magics Willow was conjuring.  _Never thought geek girl would turn out to be so big and bad. . . lotsa anger she’s got buried inside.  
  
Oh, shit. . . . what the fuck is that???_ The hounds raced and milled about under her feet, some of them leaping up to try and get on the roof, though so far none of them had managed it.  The distance to the ground increased, and Faith could feel her heart pounding with renewed fear.  _This is so not fucking good. . .what the fuck. . .  Not the dogs.   Please. . ._  
  
The soundless scream reverberated in her ears as whatever force was holding her in mid-air disappeared.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
 _  
Oh dear goddess, no. . . .    Not this._  
  
Tara stared up at the sight before her, unable to believe her eyes.  Willow had Faith and Connor suspended in mid-air, an invisible wind lashing at the two.  Every prayer, every supplication she’d ever heard was racing through her head at a breakneck pace.  _Please, great goddess, keep them safe._  
  
She tried focusing, tried closing her mind to the gasps and worried mutterings of Dawn and Wesley beside her, to no avail.  She couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t form any real true coherent thought because her eyes didn’t want to believe.  
  
Didn’t want to see the truth of how far Willow had descended.  
  
There was nothing left of the girl she’d once fallen in love with.  Nothing.  Not even her shell remained.  
  
Willow was transformed, dark veins standing out on her pale pasty white skin,, bracketing her temples and her pale lips.  Her dark hair crackled, writhing like snakes around her unnaturally pale face while darker incantations issued forth from her mouth.  
  
Tara fisted her hands together, bringing them up to cover her mouth.  Faith rose up higher in the air and an unearthly growl echoed down the otherwise strangely silent street.  Tara half turned when the growls grew louder and the sound of  heavy feet pounded up through the ground.  
  
A gasp tore from her throat and she nearly ran screaming from the scene, the sight of slobbering, drooling hell hounds enough to stop her heart.  An audible gulp sounded behind her and Dawn murmured in a shrill whisper, “What the hell?”  
  
Wesley turned to face the oncoming threat,  gallantly stepping in front of her as protection.  He swept Dawn back, shielding her slight body with his.  He could feel her pressed up against him, her slender hand wrapped around his upper arm.  Dawn was trembling, the stress beginning to show.  Wesley grabbed at her hand, lacing their fingers together.   “I’ll do my best to protect you.”  
  
Even he knew better than to promise her safety.  
  
The hounds raced forward, howling and baying for blood, yet completely ignoring the vampires on the lawn.  Sniffing at a huge male – Jenner, if Wesley’s muttering was to be believed, they stopped, milling around until they howled as one and headed straight for them.  
  
One of them banged into Tara, nearly knocking her off her feet.  It was poised to attack when a small brindled wolf landed between them.  Teeth bared and threatening, warning growls emerged from the wolf’s throat and though smaller than the hell hound by almost half, the wolf staved off the other.  
  
Blood and gore matted the wolf’s snout and a fine coating of ash covered his head and neck, but when it approached Tara, it was almost docile.  
  
“Oz?”  The wolf edged closer, snapping at another of the Cwn Annwn as it menaced the blonde.  Tara knew it was him and she knelt down, threading her fingers into the hair just behind his ears.  “It’s okay.  You can . . .”  
  
She never finished her sentence, because Dawn’s cry filled her head.  Quickly Tara looked up again, in time to see two of the hounds leap for the roof, scrabbling for purchase.  
  
Willow’s voice grew louder, and Tara found herself rising to her feet, whispering in counterpoint.  Unfamiliar words filled her head, and though she was afraid, Tara didn’t fight them or question their source.  Nor did she allow the fear to stop her this time.  
  
A shadow blocked out the streetlight and she felt the big vampire stand at her side.  Some part of her registered his words, but a bigger part of her ignored him, focusing inward, drawing on the well of strength she knew resided within her.  A collective gasp rose up from everyone and Faith fell toward the ground, heading straight for the swirling mass of hell hounds – and at the same instant the vampire next to her streaked forward.  
  
Tara had her eyes fixed on a different sight, though, the protection chants growing in intensity.  Connor was wailing, crying, suspended alone above the hounds.  
  
Willow raised her hands, pointing toward the crying baby and on the same indrawn breath, both witches clapped their hands together.  
  
Connor was gone.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Helpless against whatever magic Willow was using to hold her in place, Buffy watched with horror-filled eyes the action transpiring in front of her.  Faith nearly fell from the roof, Connor curled protectively in her arms, only to right herself before pitching head-first over the edge.  A silent scream whistled from her lips and her muscles quivered, fighting against the spell, trying to break free to somehow help Faith.  
  
Her feet were rooted, leg muscles frozen in place, unable to move.  Her eyes tracked the movement in front of her, gasping between held breaths every time Willow increased her torment.  The sight of the hounds racing toward the house froze her blood.  She kept hoping for a moment – an instant – that never came.  Instead of growing weaker by over-extending herself, keeping so many spells going at once, Willow seemed to gain in strength.  Panic truly set in when the hounds disappeared from her vision and Buffy began to struggle more actively.  She could hear the dogs, hear the pockets of fighting going on, but because of where she was standing, Buffy couldn’t see anything except Faith and Connor.  And crazy wicked Willow.  
  
Time seemed to slow down, the words spewing from Willow’s mouth exaggerated and unintelligible.  Buffy fought harder against her invisible bonds, muscles straining and bulging with her efforts.  
  
The moment Willow dropped whatever spell had been holding Faith suspended, Buffy broke free, finally able to move her arms.  Seconds later, she lurched forward, trying desperately to get her feet free before Willow managed to destroy Connor.  The baby hung there, his favorite blanket clutched in his hands, his tiny feet kicking in panic, while shrill wails filled the air.  
  
Willow pointed with both hands at the baby, spoke something guttural and completely incomprehensible, clapped once and Connor disappeared.  
  
A deep primal rage raced through Buffy, surging and rising, calling forth an aspect and emotions she’d never thought herself capable of reaching.  Using that rage, she freed herself, hurtling toward Willow, intent on inflicting severe damage.  
  
She never got the chance.    
  
An inhuman growl echoed through the night and every hair on her body rose, fear shivering down her spine.    
  
Massive paws scraped across the metal gutter, scrabbling for purchase.  A flash of darker than night fur appeared and in the next second, the hound lunged, leaping onto the roof.  
  
Jaws gaping, drool dripping, and red eyes glittering, the huge black hound advanced padding softly toward Willow.  
  
The witch arched a brow muttered a nonchalant ‘nice puppy,’ laughing when a low growl emerged from its throat.  Ignoring the warning in the menacing growl, Willow snapped her fingers, a ball of fire forming in her open palm.  
  
“Incendiere.”  
  
It whizzed at the hound, only to splutter and die before it covered half the distance. _Okay, so not supposed to happen._ Willow frowned, her pale brow furrowing, humming softly to herself. _Lemme try this._ She tried the fireball again, only to have the second one suffer the same fate.  The hound growled, and for the first time that night, Willow felt a frisson of fear.   
  
The hound growled once more, springing for Willow.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Unable to gain the upper hand against Drusilla, her rage more than his strength could handle, Lawson repeatedly found himself on the defensive, fighting for his own survival.  Drusilla was mad, insane with bloodlust and his only intention was protecting his sire’s people.  Although if she fought like this for longer it might come down to luck.  
  
Lawson ducked underneath a wild punch, swinging his elbow hard into Drusilla’s side.  He jerked back in surprise when he heard the crunch of her ribs, then faltered a bit when he stepped back, unexpectedly encountering the porch step instead of Giles.  Relief flooded through him when he turned back to see him sitting inside the doorway, a young blond tugging him to his feet.  Drusilla’s nails raking down his cheek refocused his attention on their fight.    
  
“Bad boy. Daddy’s littlest baby has done a bad, bad thing.”  She slapped him, the sound ringing in his ears, knocking him senseless for a moment.  “Mustn’t do bad things, little brother, elsewise Daddy gets very cross.”  
  
Returning the favor, Lawson backhanded her across the face the instant he recovered.  Drusilla reeled, giggling madly as she cooed at him.  “Oohhh, baby brother wants to play.“   
  
She aimed a vicious blow at his torso, then hooked one of her deceptively frail legs around his, tripping him up.  Drusilla stood over his prone form, her face a study in calm insanity.  “Some little boys must learn their lessons with whips and chains.  Isn’t nice to treat precious little girls so meanly.”    
  
Lawson stared up at her, ignoring the luring lilt of her voice.  He was waiting for her to pounce and she didn’t disappoint him.  The moment she leaned down toward him, Sam brought up his foot, hitting her square in the belly, lifting her off her feet and propelling her back away from him.  
  
She flew across the porch, landing in the bushes lining the front, squalling and caterwauling her angry displeasure with this turn of events.  Drusilla struggled to her feet,  hissing and snarling at him, all ridged brows and feral cat’s eyes gleaming.  Lawson scrambled to his feet, warily watching her approach, carefully averting his eyes from hers.  Sam knew how insidious her thrall was, having been a not-so unwilling victim earlier.  Now, though, he was more than aware of his fate should she gain any advantage.  
  
Drusilla would not hesitate.  
  
Therefore, he couldn’t let her get any advantage.  
  
Though the truth was, Sam was overmatched and he knew it.  While he’d some fighting experience, he was nowhere near skilled enough to take on a master vampire.  At least not another Aurelian.  And while Drusilla wasn’t in the same class as Angel, she had the benefit of being insane.  There was no way for Sam to begin to guess what her next move might be.  
  
They circled each other, Sam watching Drusilla’s feet and hips, avoiding her hands as well as her eyes.  She was rambling, spouting complete nonsense, which Sam blocked out by focusing instead on the sounds from the lawn, where Spike and Angel were fighting.  
  
Sam stepped backward, his ankle wobbling a bit when his foot came down on something irregular.  There was a crunch of plastic and his leg burned from the splashing liquid and he risked a glance down.  Drusilla sprung at him, nails digging into his neck and Lawson brought up his hands, pushing her off.  The scent of his blood sent her into a tizzy, because she shrieked, “No!  My dark prince wouldn’t!  Daddy will kill you both.  Poor William. . .  No more tea and cakes.”  
  
She began laughing, a morbid dark sound, and Sam slapped her once just to stop the noise.  
  
Drusilla didn’t react, though.  The laughter became more and more deranged until there was nothing except that sound filling his ears.  Sam flinched away, watching in horror as Drusilla raked her own flesh, drawing blood.  She doubled over, clutching her belly, then dropped to her knees.  
  
“No!  No. . . no . . .   Daddy, stay with your baby girl.  NO!”  
  
The sound died off, the echo reverberating into the darkness.  
  
A deep baying howl broke the silence moments later.  
  
The night grew still again, nothing moving except Drusilla, who rocked back and forth on her knees.  
  
She turned her face up to the moon a half second before Sam felt a connection in his blood break.  
  
Her keening wail broke the night’s silence once more and Sam could do nothing but stare.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
There was no sound.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Just the soft breeze breaking through the leaves of the trees.  
  
The street light buzzed, but the sound was distant, far away.  
  
Hush filled the dark night, and every creature froze as if knowing something momentous had just occurred.  
  
A sob, the soft echo of abysmal grief broke the silence and for the span of a few heartbeats there was no other answering sound.  
  
Until the lead hound bayed, ululating his pleasure to the high moonlight, his quarry captured.  
  
The witch cowered on her knees, hands covering her face, vainly trying to protect herself from the hound, who stood over her.  His mouth closed on her shoulder, and he roughly tugged, dragging her to the edge.  Willow screamed, slapping fruitlessly at the hound, twisting and turning in a futile effort to get away. In response,  he battered her head with a huge paw, knocking her out and tightened his hold on her.  Dropping down to the ground, Willow’s body hit the grass with a heavy thud, the hound poised with her shoulder in his huge mouth.  
  
The rest of the pack circled round them, sniffing and nipping at the unprotected witch.   
  
No one moved to help her.    
  
No one dared.  
  
The sound of heavy footsteps thudding against the ground shook the earth and as one, everyone turned to look.  The Huntsman whistled once and the hounds settled, allowing the alpha pair to stand over the unconscious form of Willow.  
  
He was just about to speak when an agonized wail broke through the night.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Angel stared up at Spike, disbelief flooding his features as he changed into his human guise.  He couldn’t move anything.  There was no sensation in his legs, or arms or anything below his neck.  Unable to take in air enough to allow him to speak, Angel was completely helpless.   And Spike knew it.  
  
“How’s it feel, wanker?”  Spike grinned down at the helpless vampire, a grim look in his eyes.  “Knowin’ you’re all helpless an’ unable to move?”  
  
Spike dragged him up by his shoulders, holding Angel so he could stare him in the eye.  “Afraid yet?”  
  
Angel tried shaking his head no, and Spike just growled at him, pulling him in close.  “You should be, ‘cause there isn’t anythin’ or anyone gonna save your ass this time.”  
  
He head-butted Angel, opening up a thin cut across his forehead, and Spike chuckled, licking at the blood dripping down the other vampire’s face.  “Not that you deserve this, but I’m not gonna torture you.”  Angel’s eyes bulged while Spike’s grinned widened.  “Jus’ gonna kill you.”  
  
Turning away, Spike one-handedly swung Angel around toward the tree slamming his shoulder.  Angel dropped like a sack, landing almost face down.  Unable to push himself up or get to his feet he was forced to watch Spike stalk closer.  “Now you know how Dawnie felt while you played your fuckin’ games with her.”  
  
A look entered Angel’s eyes and a snarling sneer bloomed on his features.  “You’re probably thinkin’ I don’t have the stones to do it.  But see, you’re wrong.”  He knelt down on one knee in front of him, pushing Angel over onto his back.  “You hurt m’daughter, you fucker.  An’ you don’t get away with that.  Ever.”  
  
Obviously he’d surprised the bigger vampire, because the look in Angel’s eyes changed.  “Seems you’re not the only vamp capable of havin’ children.  ‘Cause Dawn’s not the only one we’re ever gonna have.  But, mate,” Spike stood again, staring down at the prone vampire. “You’ll never get the chance to even see them.”  
  
On his last word, Spike drew back his foot and kicked Angel in the head.  Blood and teeth splattered, darkening Spike’s boots and jeans.  The second kick exploded Angel’s head, brains and bloody matter erupting all over.  Spike smiled grimly, then leaned down, remarking, “Nasty bits there, Angelus.  Good thing it’ll all disappear in a minute.”  
  
Wrapping his hands around Angel’s neck, his fingers slipping in the gore, Spike wrenched Angel’s head from his shoulders.  
  
                



	66. No one mourns the wicked

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 66.  No one mourns the wicked  
  
  
Be careful that victories do not carry the seed of future defeats.   
    Ralph W. Sockman  
  
Action springs not from thought,   
but from a readiness for responsibility.   
    Dietrich Bonhoeffer  
  
No one mourns the Wicked  
No one cries "They won't return!"   
No one lays a lily on their grave   
The good man scorns the Wicked!   
Through their lives, our children learn   
What we miss, when we misbehave:   
And Goodness knows   
The Wickeds lives are lonely   
Goodness knows   
The Wicked die alone   
It just shows when you're Wicked   
You're left only   
On your own   
Yes, Goodness knows   
The Wickeds lives are lonely   
Goodness knows   
The Wicked cry alone   
Nothing grows for the Wicked   
They reap only   
What they sow   
    Stephen Schwartz, No One Mourns The Wicked, from the musical Wicked  
_**  
  
  
  
Buffy stared at the spot where Connor had been, tears of frustration blurring her vision.  _Oh God, where is he?  Please let him be safe.  He’s only a little baby._  
  
An eerie shriek splitting the silence galvanized her and she angrily wiped the tears away.  
  
She flipped effortlessly off the roof, hoping to catch the dogs before there was nothing left of Willow to undo what she’d done.  Buffy was all prepared for battle, only what she landed in the midst of was something else entirely.  
  
Willow was on the ground, circled by a ring of the huge hounds, while everyone stood watching them.  Wesley still had his arm around Dawn, who looked about ready to collapse, while Tara stood by silently.  Faith was standing suspiciously close to Jenner, but Buffy made no comment, didn’t even raise an eyebrow.  
  
She took two steps forward, intending to get to Willow and shake Connor’s whereabouts from her, when the biggest human she’d ever seen called off the hounds.  He was just like Dawn had described him, all huge and hairy. . .    
  
Her heightened sense of smell caught his scent and she wrinkled her nose, fighting an unexpected wave of nausea.  She was completely caught off-guard, though, when he bowed and began speaking.  
  
His voice was deep, like rocks breaking through the earth, and she understood not one syllable of his words.  She looked around at the others for help, though everyone returned her bewildered stares, even Jenner.  
  
All except Dawn.  
  
Her voice hesitated, then at a nod from the Huntsman, she translated.  
  
“Greetings, Chosen One.”  
  
Buffy smiled nervously, aware if she opened her mouth, nothing but nonsense would emerge, though she tried anyway.  “Hi.  Ah, I mean . . . greetings.”  
  
“The betrayer has been revealed.  Judgment awaits her.”  
  
He waited for this to sink in, letting them understand his purpose.  
  
“She must stand before the Seelie Court and learn her fate.”  
  
Once more he paused, letting Dawn translate.  
  
“Who’s supposed to judge her?  Where’s this Seelie Court?  I need to ask her where. . . you don’t get to take her until I get an answer.  We have to find out what she did with Connor, where he is.”  The set of her shoulders belied the quaver in her voice, as did her stance.  Faith edged up to stand almost behind her and started to speak when the Huntsman gestured for silence.  
  
“The infant’s rescue is in the hands of another.  It is for you to see to the betrayer.  My lord requests this.  Her betrayal demands this.”  
  
For the third time he paused, waiting patiently for Dawn to finish.  
  
“You must accompany the witch to the Seelie Court.”  
  
Buffy started to speak when Spike’s emphatic, ‘No’ interrupted.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
It was too quiet outside the house.  _Far too quiet._ Giles lifted his head up, no longer watching Anya finish bandaging his leg.  
  
All the noise had stopped and an eerie silence filled the night.  Anya started to speak and he placed a warning finger over her lips.  “Quiet, dear.”  
  
She froze, for one heartbeat thinking he was dismissing her the way Xander always did; until she glanced up.  His attention was riveted on the hallway leading to the front door, his eyes dark with concentration.  
  
“It’s too quiet outside.  Something’s happened.”  
  
As he finished, an ear-piercing wail filled the night, raising gooseflesh and the hairs on the back of his neck.  Grabbing Anya’s hand, Rupert stood up, tested his leg for stability and dragged her toward the back door.  “Follow me, quietly.”  
  
They rounded the side of the house, noting all the discarded weapons and piles of dust.  _No bodies, which is a good sign.  I hope._  
  
He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until Anya’s whisper reached his ears.  “Of course it’s a good sign.  It can’t be anything but a good sign.”  
  
Giles pulled up short, the hand not holding Anya’s pointing at the tableau in front of them.  “It’s not all sunshine and roses yet either.”  
  
Anya shifted her gaze away from his face.  “How is this not good?  Everyone’s here.”  
  
“Almost everyone.  I don’t see Spike . . .   and where is Connor?”  Giles looked around, his eyes focused on the hounds, some of which were growling and pawing at Willow’s still figure.   “I’m not sure the hounds are completely under control.”  
  
“What’s he saying?  Do you understand that?”  Anya stepped closer.  
  
“Not all of it.”  They shared a look when Dawn began speaking, falling silent as the exchange went on.  
  
When the Huntsman indicated Buffy was required to accompany Willow, Giles shook his head in denial, but his words were forestalled by another’s.    He looked up in relief when Spike stepped out of the shadows.  
  
“No.”  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Her body slumped just slightly the second his voice washed through her.  _He’s safe.  He’s here._ Buffy knew in her bones had anything dire happened to him, she would be a mess.  Almost losing him once had taught her that.  Her eyes devoured him, noting the rips and tears on his shirt, the darker glistening patches on the duster, and the blood sluggishly oozing from various cuts on his face.  
  
Spike swept his eyes over her form, ignoring the others.  He strode past the Huntsman and the Cwn Annwn, footsteps purposeful.  Once he was in touching distance, Spike gathered her into his arms.  
  
Buffy didn’t realize she was trembling until his arms settled around her.  “‘S all right, kitten, ‘m fine.”    
  
“You’re hurt.”  Her hands slipped inside the duster, checking him for damage.  
  
“No, I’m not.  Not really.”  His hands swept down her back, soothing her.  “Jus’ breath, sweets.”  
  
“Oh, God. . . _oh, God_.”  Buffy pulled back, looking up into his eyes.  “You did it.  He’s gone.”  
  
“Yeah,” was all he said.   Spike braced for her anger, instead what he got was an armful of Buffy, whispering softly into his chest.  “You’re safe.  Thank you.  Oh, God, you’re safe.”  
  
His arms closed around her once more, cradling her gently.  The breath she’d been holding  released and Buffy held onto him, her fingers digging into his sides.  Spike didn’t even notice.  He did the same, holding onto her just as hard.  He leaned down, his nose nuzzling against her.  “You all right, pet?”    
  
He felt her nod in answer, so he asked the next logical question.  “Baby’s all right?”  
  
“Yeah, we’re both fine.”   
  
His hand ran down her side, squeezing her rump.  “Where’s the sprog?”    
  
Once more Buffy lifted tear-filled eyes to his.  “I don’t know.  Willow . . . oh, Spike, I just don’t know what happened.  He was in . . .   Faith had him, and then Willow and he just disappeared.”    
  
Spike’s temper, which had eased somewhat, rose again.  “What?  He disappeared?”  
  
He moved away from Buffy, intent on getting to the downed witch.  
  
The Huntsman held up his hand to forestall Spike’s movement and he spoke again.  “The Chosen One’s presence is needed.”  
  
Spike looked up once Dawn was finished, his voice firm and resolute.  “She’s not going anywhere.”  
  
For the first time the Huntsman’s expression changed.  His deep rumbling sigh shook the ground and despite the solemnity of the situation, he smiled.  “She needs must accompany the witch.”  
  
“An’ what guaranty do I have she’ll come back?”  Spike tucked her close, his arm protectively around her shoulders.  “Remember all the legends, mate, ‘bout humans goin’ into the Otherworld, only to come back a  hundred years later, if not more.  Slayer stays here.  You’ve got the witch.”  
  
“The betrayer must face the one she betrayed.”  He paused, exasperation now clearly on his face.  “You have the word of the Sidhe, the Chosen One will return.”  
  
Spike snapped back, “In who’s time?  Not lettin’ her go, not without a bit more assurance.”  
  
Before either man could continue, Jenner interrupted.  “Iron will keep her safe.”  
  
All eyes swung to him, waiting for his explanation.  “Humans with iron on them cannot be kept by the Sidhe.  They’ll have no choice but to let her go.”  
  
Despite his misgivings, that news did placate Spike somewhat.  “She’ll come back when?”  
  
“My word we will ensure her return in one of your days.”  The Huntsman directed his comments to Spike.  “My lord will not hold her.”  
  
“Any kind of iron?”  Spike ignored the Huntsman for a moment, directing his question at Jenner.  
  
“Yeah.  Blades work best, but any bit of iron will do.”  
  
“Rupert.”  The Watcher’s head snapped to, knowing what Spike’s next words would be.  “Got any iron weapons hanging about?”  
  
As soon as Jenner had spoken, it had jogged Giles’ memory and he’d started searching his brain for any iron weapons they might have stored away.  Unfortunately, none came to mind.  They had bone, glass, steel, volcanic rock, and any number of odd ritualistic weapons, but sadly none of them were iron.  Save one.    
  
“Olaf’s hammer.”  
  
“Bit of overkill.  No swords or shields?”  Buffy bit back a smile at Spike’s rejection of her carrying the troll god’s hammer as protection.  
  
“Wait.”  Faith moved away from Jenner’s side, fishing into her cleavage.  “Here, B, take this.”  
  
Lifting a heavy silver chain from around her neck, Faith handed Buffy an iron cross.  It fit into the palm of her hand and Buffy stared down at it.  
  
It was black, simple except for the flared ends and the increasingly smaller crosses that culminated in an intricate crown of thorns in the middle.  She closed her fist around it, tucking it into her jeans’ pocket.  Buffy looked up at Spike, who once again reached for her hands.  She stared into his eyes, trying to convey her jumbled thoughts.  Without turning from Spike, she spoke.  “We have to get Connor back first.  He’s helpless and . . .  we have to find him.  I’m not going anywhere until I know he’s safe.”  
  
The Huntsman pondered this, his eyes fixed, oddly enough, on the alpha pair of hounds.  They seemed to converse for a few moments, then as the giant was about to speak, Anya cried out, “Wait!”  
  
All eyes turned to stare at her and she broke away from Giles, pointing at Tara, “‘ _Remember this_ ’ she said.  Well, we didn’t.  Or almost didn’t.”  
  
Tara looked utterly bewildered for a moment.  Her lips quirked and she opened her mouth as if to speak, but couldn’t make a sound until Anya prompted her.  “Gaia . . .   she came just before Willow broke the wards.  She said. . . . she said. . . .”  
  
Exasperated with Tara’s hesitancy, Anya blurted out, “Only a dead man can cross the boundaries, and the price isn’t permanent.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“Means ‘m gonna get the sprog.”  Spike glanced at Dawn, who had posed the question, then looked to Buffy.  He didn’t need to explain it; they both knew what the price was for.  Now, they needed to narrow down where Connor might be. Not letting go of Buffy’s hand, Spike turned to the two girls.   “She say anythin’ else?”  
  
“No.  Just that when the time came, I would know what to do.”  Tara shrugged, looking more than a bit apologetic.  “All I could think of was to keep him safe, because he couldn’t protect himself.”  
  
“The youngling is destined to be a warrior.”  Two of the younger hounds yipped and he pointed to Spike.  “Blood calls to blood.  Blood is the key.”  He snapped his fingers and the two hounds crouched at Spike’s feet.  “They will guide and aid you.”  
  
“It is time.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Lawson circled around the obviously distraught figure of Drusilla, who was still weeping her grief into her hands.  Soft sobs broke up her incoherent mumblings, and Sam couldn’t quite figure out who she was grieving over.  He looked up to where Spike and Angel had been fighting, hoping to get some sort of answer, though neither vampire was there and it hardly looked like a fight had even occurred.  Sam dared not move any closer to Drusilla, wary of her volatile and unpredictable nature, though he wanted to hear what she was saying.  
  
The sense of loss and disconnection gave him some inkling.  He could feel bonds loosen and sever inside him, familial bonds, though because of his recent re-siring, Lawson couldn’t tell which of the vampires claiming him as childe was no more.    
  
His hope, given Drusilla’s reaction, was that it had been Angel who’d been destroyed, but Lawson knew his luck was never that good.  He could hear voices from the side of the house, and focused on them.  He didn’t dare turn his back on Drusilla, though, knowing she would strike without hesitation.  
  
The voices were low, the words nearly indistinguishable, until one strident voice broke through.  One of the women, by the timbre, however Sam couldn’t be sure.  He turned away at the sound to try and identify it, though he was unable to.  A whisper of movement caught his ear from behind, and Sam realized a split second too late that he’d taken his attention away from Drusilla.  He whirled around only to find nothing there.  
  
Drusilla was gone.  
  
He spun around again, thinking she’d slipped behind him, but encountered only air.    
  
She was gone.  
  
Her scent lingered, blood mixed with tears, and Sam couldn’t find a reason to chase after her and end it.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Suiting actions to his words, the Huntsman leaned down, wrapped a massive hand around Willow’s waist and swept her lax form up into his arms.  
  
He turned around without waiting to see if Buffy was following him.  Pausing only to acknowledge Dawn, the Huntsman strode away from the houses and into the middle of the  street.  The hounds trailed after, except for the pair at Spike’s feet.  
  
Once in the street, the Huntsman looked back at Buffy.  “My promise also, I freely give.  Only one day of your time will pass.”  
  
He spoke again, the words coming one upon the other, too fast for Dawn to translate.  The air in front of him shimmered and light began leaking through the darkness, as bright as sunshine.    
  
“Come.”  Beckoning to Buffy he directed the Cwn Annwn through the doorway.  
  
Buffy hesitated, not wanting to leave and she kept hold of Spike’s hand until the very last instant.  Without a word, she stepped through, disappearing from sight.  
  
A low growl emerged from Spike’s throat and he stared hard at the Huntsman.  “See that you keep your promise.  One day is all you get, an’ then ‘m coming.”  
  
The giant nodded once and stepped through, the portal closing silently behind him.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
He didn’t want to let her go.  Didn’t trust the word of a giant three times his size.  Yet Spike had no choice.  
  
Willow’s betrayal demanded justice.  According to the Huntsman, only Buffy could go.  
  
Spike stared at the spot she’d disappeared from, willing the time to pass more quickly.  Part of him wanted to do nothing more than stand in that same spot until she returned.  Realizing the idiocy of that desire coupled with the knowledge he and the others had work to do had him looking around to see who was still standing.  
  
Tara was staring at him, a look upon her face that had his guts clenching and wishing he hadn’t.  Obviously she still harbored some feelings for the redhead, otherwise the Huntsman’s actions wouldn’t have caused that look or the emotion behind it.  His anger with Willow ran too deep, but Tara was one of his girls and she needed a kind word.  
  
“C’mon, love, let’s head inside an’ suss all this out.”  
  
She nodded absently, motioning down to the wolf crouched at her feet.  “I  . . yeah.    Should see about Dawnie.  And you need stuff.”  Her voice cracked and hitched, and tears slid down her cheeks.  “Connor’s gonna be scared.”  
  
“Oh, Pidge, it’s gonna be all right. I’ll get ‘im back.”  Spike pointed her toward the house.  “Go on inside.  ‘M gonna get Dawn.”  
  
She stumbled away, tears blurring her vision and Spike shook his head, about to see to Dawn when Tara stopped and called him back.  “Spike?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I think I know how to find him.”  She’d squared her shoulders, once more digging deep for strength and guidance.  
  
“Right then, I’ll just be a mo’.”  Spike  turned around again, surveying the damage on the yard.    He didn’t see Tara wobble, didn’t see her put out a hand to catch herself or the wolf’s reaction to Tara’s distress.  The werewolf nudged against Tara, helping her into the house.  
  
He should be feeling something – euphoria, happiness – something other than this grim satisfaction.  He’d done it, bested Angel and rid the world of his stultifying presence.  Accomplished something – taken care of the demon that had spent months terrorizing his family.  
  
He was more worried about Buffy and the baby – babies – so he felt no need to crow.  He’d killed his sire’s sire.  And yet there was nothing.  
  
Spike stared off, his eyes registering Wesley helping Dawn into the house, Giles limping behind while Anya took up the caboose position.  
  
There should have been some anger, some grief. . . _something_ , he thought.  _Not feelin’ a thing_.  No sense of familial loss, no great, gaping hole where connection to Angelus lay.  There was nothing.  He felt a trace of Drusilla’s grief, but it was distant, numbed and stretched thin, almost as if years had already passed.  
  
Jenner stepped up next to him, warily watching his too still form.  He started to speak, then at a closer look at Spike’s profile, Jenner changed his mind.    
  
The two males, the last of the Aurelian master vampires, stood in silence.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
As she stepped into the shimmering portal, Buffy tugged the iron cross from her pocket.  Clutching it closely in her tight fist, she glanced around at her surroundings.  
  
Bright sunlight blinded her momentarily and she blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted.  Blue skies with high, thin mare’s tail clouds stretched as far as she could see.  A grove of apple trees stood off to her left and the smell had her mouth watering.  To her right was a wide grass-lined avenue littered with carved standing stones, mixed with tall hazel trees giving way to taller, statelier oaks.  Though the sky was just as clear in that direction, a cool breeze wafted over her and Buffy fought the shivers.  
  
“Our way lies not on that path.”  The Huntsman stepped beside her, his voice coming down from his great height.  
  
“How come I can understand you now?”  Buffy craned her head up, shielding her eyes so she could see his expression.  
  
“My lord has granted you a boon.”  He shifted his burden, slinging Willow unceremoniously over his shoulder.   “Our path lies this way.”  
  
“So I’m guessing this boon is like a gift, huh?”  Without waiting for an answer, Buffy muttered, “Last time someone other than a human gave me a gift, it wasn’t so great.  Maybe I don’t like all these gifts.”  
  
She had to run to keep up with him, her short legs no match for his.  _Geezuz, and I thought being supernatural meant I could keep up with just about anything.  Wonder if he’s got a beanstalk somewhere?_  
  
Stifling her less -than-reverent thoughts, Buffy raced to keep up.  The Huntsman stopped outside the walls of a huge fortress, the wooden gate seemingly going up forever.  
  
“Wow.  That’s a really big door.”  
  
“Welcome, Chosen One, to the Hall of my lord.”  
  
He pushed open the gate, motioning Buffy inside.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Faith stood on the front porch, watching the two vampires.  Spike hadn’t moved at all, not once in the near hour since the rest of them had gone inside.  Giles was all bandaged up, wearing a pair of borrowed, almost-too-small sweat pants, Xander was passed out on the couch, Oz was sleeping it off in Tara’s bed and Dawn had been carried up to Buffy and Spike’s room just a little while ago.  
  
His behavior was beginning to wig her, and she knew both Giles and Wesley were also concerned.  She kind of understood, though, or at least thought she might.  _Maybe he’s feeling sort of like I did when I felt Buffy go.  Sorta lost, sorta relieved.  
_  
It was weird though, to see Spike so still.  Just as she was about to step off the porch, Faith heard the murmur of soft voices and Spike moved, turning a bit to look at Jenner.  The two spoke for more than a few minutes, nothing but soft words passing between them, until a noise exploded from Spike and he started gesturing wildly.  Faith’s lips twitched and she released the sigh she’d been holding back.  
  
Spike spun on his heel, striding straight for the house, determination hounding every step.  
  
He paused momentarily, acknowledging her presence.  “You’ll stay until I get back, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah, sure.”  She shrugged, stuffing her hands into her pockets.  “Got nowhere else to go.”  
  
Spike stared into her eyes, seeing the vulnerability she always tried to so hard to hide.  “Right then.”  
  
He swept past her, moving swiftly into the house.  Faith turned to follow, only to have her attention drawn by Jenner.  
  
His hand reached out to touch her arm and she stared down at it, fighting the shivers of awareness rocketing through her.  Neither one of them spoke, though Faith thought Jenner may have said her name.   
  
It didn’t matter.  
  
Nothing did, not any more.  
  
The next heartbeat, Faith knocked his hand away, once more turning toward the house.  
  
Before she could move though, Jenner was behind her, his body nearly touching hers.  He leaned down, his mouth hovering just over her ear and simply said one word.  
  
“Faith.”  
  
His deep voice went right through her and she was lost, though she fought it.  Every inch of her was aware of him, tingles crawling up her spine and they were so much more than just her spider sense.  His proximity alone was enough to get her going, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why the hell she wasn’t taking control.  He was just another guy – although a bit deader.  
  
Jenner’s hand slid around her waist, barely touching her and Faith tensed.  
  
“It’s time.”  
  
His teeth brushed across the spot at her nape and all she could do was whimper.  Jenner laughed, low and husky, then tightened his hold on her.  
  
She didn’t even protest when he lifted her off her feet and carried her over his shoulder down the street.  
      



	67. A brief respite from fear

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 67.  A brief respite from fear  
  
I only know that a rook  
Ordering its black feathers can so shine  
As to seize me senses, haul  
My eyelids up, and grant  
A brief respite from fear  
Of total neutrality.   
    Sylvia Plath, Black Rook in Rainy Weather   
  
The pause between the errors and trials of the day  
and the hopes of the night.   
    Herbert Hoover  
  
These sudden ends of time must give us pause.  
We fray into the future, rarely wrought  
Save in the tapestries of afterthought.  
More time, more time.   
     Richard Wilbur, Year’s End  
  
And thus I’ll curb her mad and headstrong humor.  
He that knows better how to tame a shrew,  
Now let him speak; ‘tis charity to shew.  
    Taming of the Shrew, Act iv, Sc. ii   
  
_**  
  
  
Spike surveyed the Scoobies – though he supposed that name really didn’t apply anymore.  Right at this moment, only Giles still remained of the original group.  They were a sad, sorry lot.  Anya was, for once, sitting quietly, her eyes fixed on Giles, who was leaning against the dining room wall.    
“Who’s bleeding?”  
  
By way of answer, Anya pointed at Giles, who only shook his head in denial.  
  
A low growl surged from his throat and Spike swung his head around to look at Wesley and Tara.  “Someone’s hurt, so who is it?”  
  
Tara shrugged, which ended in a grimace and a wave of pain surged through her.  “Oh.”  She reached up with her right hand and cut herself on the still embedded shard of glass.  “Guess it’s me.”  
  
“Glinda…”   Spike closed the distance to her side in two steps while Wesley steadied her in her chair.  Anya scrambled for the first-aid kit as Spike pushed Tara’s hand away.  “‘S gonna hurt, but it’s gotta come out.  You ready?”  
  
Wesley grabbed her hands, saying, “Squeeze if you have to.”  
  
Giles moved to stand beside Spike, raising an eyebrow.  “It’s going to require stitching.  Perhaps we should wait and get her to hospital.”  
  
Spike was shaking his head.  “Needs to come out now.”  
  
Before he or Wesley could object further or Tara could tense up more, Spike grasped the shard and pulled.  He faltered, the chip sending pulse waves of pain through his head and Tara slumped forward, passing out.  
  
“Fucking hell.”  Spike sagged against the wall, one hand fisted against his temple.  “Now you can get her to hospital.”  
  
Wesley quickly staunched the flow of blood, attempting to lift Tara’s unconscious form.  “Leave ‘er, Oxford.  I’ll get her.  You get the wheels.”  
  
Staggering over to the table, Spike waved off any assistance, easily lifting Tara in his arms.  “Rupert, you’ll stay with the sprog an . . .”  
  
He froze – they all did – at Spike’s mention of Connor.  Unbidden tears sprung in more than one pair of eyes and for long seconds none of them even moved, until Giles cleared his throat.  “I’ll,”  With a telling look at Anya, he continued, “ _we’ll_ start looking for answers.”  
  
Spike’s jaw clenched, the muscles twitching furiously in his cheek.  “Right.  Won’t be long.”  
  
And before any of them could really recover, Spike stomped out the door.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Thumping her fist twice against the broad expanse in front of her, Faith fumed when she got no reaction.  _Freaking bully. Not putting up with this crap.  What the fuck does he think he’s doing?_ She wriggled a bit, earning herself nothing more than a slap on the ass and a low chuckle.  She thought about kicking him, but his grip on her legs tightened, almost as if he could read her mind.  Another low chuckle vibrated through her and Faith clenched her jaw, lips thinning with barely suppressed rage.  
  
Making an effort to calm her tense muscles, Faith slowed her breathing and settled her heartbeat.  _Ha!  All that freaking time I spent working on meditating in the slammer paid off.  Take this, you big stupid vampire._   For several blocks she stayed still, hoping Jenner would buy her ruse.  They passed by the Magic Box and Faith nearly laughed at her own image  floating upside down in the mirror-like dark glass.  
  
It took longer than she expected, almost long enough for her to be ready to give up, when Jenner loosened his hold on her legs.  Faith waited, counting out the seconds and at the third set of thirty, Faith twisted, flipping up off Jenner’s shoulder, landing in front of him.  
  
Almost before he could register her actions, Faith had fisted her hands, body slipping into an aggressive stance.  He easily blocked her first punch, his hand covering her smaller one.  
  
“What’s with the caveman routine?  Can’t just go carrying people around like sacks of potatoes.”  She threw a left hook aimed at his head, which he reacted to by just grabbing her wrist and pulling her in close to him.  
  
He grinned, moonlight casting odd shadows on his features.  “Was the easiest way to shut you up.”  
  
She shifted her weight, preparing to kick him, when Jenner hauled her closer, her breasts almost crushed between them.  Faith had to tilt her head up to avoid getting her nose slammed into his chest and she pulled hard against his hold.  “Lemme go, you asshole.”  
  
“No.”      
  
She fought harder at his refusal, slipping from his grasp after a struggle. “No?  What the hell is that supposed to mean?”    
  
Once more she swung a fist at him and he whirled her around, her back to his front. He leaned down, his mouth inches away from her ear, cool breath wafting over her heated skin.  He could sense her body reacting to his nearness and his grin widened.  “It means…it’s time.”  
  
His head dropped down, his mouth nuzzling against her neck.  Faith swung her elbow back, hoping to catch him in his side, but Jenner caught her arm, holding it out away from him.  “No more playing.”  
  
He bit the nape of her neck, just gently scraping his blunt teeth over her flesh.  Both of them could feel her heartbeat pick up and Jenner ghosted his hand over her breasts.    
  
Tremors wracked her and Faith forgot to think.  Her hand covered Jenner’s and she never even registered the temperature difference between them.  _Is this what Buffy feels every time Spike gets close? Coz, oh…God…_  
  
She wasn’t even sure the slight whimper was hers until Jenner’s husky chuckle sounded in her ear.  “We could do this here, or we could move this someplace quieter.”  
  
“Not dropping trou . . .”  Her voice trailed off as Jenner cupped her breast, thumbing her nipple through the layers of clothes.  “Yeah.  Let’s do this.”   
  
Grinning sardonically, almost in a leer, Jenner once more lifted Faith up into his arms and strode off into the darkness.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Warily shifting her gaze from the giant to the open gate, Buffy hesitated long enough for the Huntsman to urge her forward.  “My lord waits within.”  
  
Clenching her hand around the small bits of iron, the Slayer visibly gathered her courage. _Okay, gonna take a leap of faith here.  I hope Jenner was right about the iron._ Buffy nodded once, slipping the chain over her head.  The silver chain was long, and the cross landed directly between her breasts, the bottom resting against her belly.  Taking that as a good sign, Buffy inhaled deeply and stepped around the gate.    
  
The hall was breathtakingly beautiful, the walls a deep, rich blue – l _ike Spike’s eyes_ – and arched alcoves lined the walls.  Large columns of creamy marble shot with lines of silver and gold held up a ceiling of the same colors.  Benches of delicate silver and gold were set at different intervals throughout the cavernous interior.  The floor beneath her feet was marble, a deep rich green, mixed with flecks of gold and cream.  
  
Straight in front of her, sitting atop a deceptively delicate looking chair, was a figure.  Too far away to guess whether it was male or female, Buffy tried questioning the giant at her side.  “Who is that?”  
  
Her only answer was a large meaty hand nudging her shoulder and a single word,  “Come.”  
  
With a look bordering on mutinous, Buffy followed the Huntsman, trying very hard not to gape like a hick.  
  
Halfway down the hall, she realized word of her appearance must have spread, because the hall began to fill with. . .  Well, they weren’t _entirely_ human, because her spider sense was going haywire, though they certainly _looked_ human.  Except each one was more beautiful than the next, wearing gowns and tunics of every color and fabrics that Buffy couldn’t identify.  Every single one of them was tall, taller than Angel and Riley, even the women.  It hurt her eyes to look upon such creatures and with every step further into the hall, Buffy felt smaller and grubbier and so very unworthy of being in their company.  
  
Tears collected in her eyes and she was filled with fear over what was about to happen.  She was so clearly out of her depth here.  Unconsciously, her right hand clenched around the cross and she was swamped by such a fierce longing for Spike that Buffy very nearly turned tail and headed for the door.  
  
It was only then she realized that she and the Huntsman had reached their destination.  Buffy kept her eyes averted, unwilling to look at anything higher than the floor.  
  
Deep silence filled the hall and every figure waited to see what the lord of the hall would do.  
  
There was a rustle of material and the sound of footsteps echoed softly through the otherwise silent hall.  The Huntsman dropped his burden, dumping Willow’s still unconscious form at his massive feet.  
  
“Greetings, Chosen One, well met and welcome to my hall.”  The voice was unlike anything she’d ever heard before, deep as night and soft as dreams, it reverberated throughout the hall.  
  
Buffy finally looked up and was struck dumb by the sight in front of her.  She couldn’t think, too mesmerized by the sheer presence of the being standing before her.  He was tall, lanky, broad of shoulder yet lean, and his face was indescribably handsome.  _No, he’s not handsome, that’s not good enough.  He’s beautiful, and oh, my God, Spike would not be out of place here._  
  
Fathomless eyes stared into hers and he smiled, breaking the ice.  “I am Gwyn ap Nudd, and I owe you a great debt.”  
  
“ _Me_?”  She hadn’t meant to squeak, she really hadn’t, but Buffy could barely force air into her lungs.  She cleared her throat, trying a second time.  “Me?”  
  
“Aye, my lady.  You are the keeper of balance in your world, the one who destroys those who would tip the scales.”  He smiled and Buffy thought she could spend forever watching him do that.  
  
“Why do you owe me?”  
  
“Events unfolded that altered the balance, with intervention from those of my world.”  He gestured to Willow.  “The betrayer called upon powers and magics she had no respect for, seeking control over events and destinies.”  
  
When it was clear Buffy wasn’t going to comment, he continued, “This mortal sought out powers of the immortal.  Given time and temperance, she might have become one of us.  However, her need to control overtook her unselfish reasons.”  
  
Buffy sighed, saying in a very small voice, “She wasn’t happy when I turned to Spike after I came back.”  
  
A hollow laugh broke the silence and a woman moved through the crowd of people lining the hall.  Her hair was dark red, floor length, rippling over her shoulders like a living cloak.    “She refused to see what was inevitable, no matter what path your future took.”  
  
The woman moved closer and Buffy could see the unusual purple hue of her eyes.  She glanced down at the redhead. “She has eyes, yet refuses to see. Has a heart, yet will not listen to it.”  
  
A grim look overtook her features and she gestured to Buffy.  “Your heart is pure, Chosen One, for even now you feel pity for her.”  
  
Gwyn interrupted.  “Would you save her?”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The instant she saw him stride through the emergency room doors, Maureen Osbourne knew something was seriously wrong.  For one thing, he was alone except for the girl in his arms.  For another, said girl wasn’t Buffy.    
  
She waved him through, bypassing the admitting clerk, holding the door open for him.  Spike nodded his head in thanks and shouldered past her.  
  
“How bad is it?”  
  
“Glass lodged in her shoulder.  Watcher thought it needed stitching.”  
  
It only took a half hour to get Tara squared away, but it was a half hour Spike spent pacing the corridor outside her room.  Wesley finally joined him after parking the car, though he wisely kept both his distance and his silence.  
  
The tension surrounding Spike was more than palpable.  It was a living, breathing presence beside him.  Wesley had never experienced anything like it, and he was aware any wrong move could set off the other man’s volatile temper.  Muscles clenched and jaw ticking madly, Spike made another circuit down the hall while Wesley watched.  He nearly jumped out of his skin when Spike stopped and stalked right for him.  
  
“You’ll get Glinda home.  I’ll meet you there.”  
  
Before Wesley could agree, Spike was gone.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
They barely made it through the front door of the small hotel he’d commandeered as his headquarters.  Jenner slid his hand beneath Faith’s button-down shirt, cupping a full breast in his cool hand.  She retaliated by biting his chest and Jenner dug the fingers of his other hand into her hip, pulling her hard against his erection.  
  
Faith chuckled while saying, “Guess you’re real happy to see me.”  
  
He laughed, deep and low, letting her go, all while walking her backward, further into the hotel lobby.  “I’d be happier if you were already naked.”  
  
She stepped back, eyeing him up and down, her eyes focused on his crotch and Faith licked her lips.  “Yeah, I bet you would.”  She started slowly unbuttoning her top and Jenner growled when the top buttons exposed her breast.  “Like what you see?”  
  
Faith was laughing at him, thinking she had control.  He blinked, letting her think so, for a heartbeat.  Jenner lunged for her then, popping the buttons on her shirt, easily stripping it away.  His eyes roamed her exposed flesh and his leer had her panting.  “Yeah, I like what I’m seeing.”  
  
Jenner pinched her nipples, watching her eyes dilate with desire.  “Take off your clothes.”  
  
“Only if you get naked, too.”  He grinned, because she was still trying to control the situation.  Instead of answering, Jenner deftly wrapped the trailing ends of her shirt together, pinning her arms behind her back.  Fighting to free her hands, Faith swore at him.  
  
Jenner spun her around, unzipping her pants and pushing them down around her knees.  His mouth at the back of her neck sent Faith’s senses reeling and she writhed when his fingers brushed over her clit.  
  
“Oh, you naughty girl, all clean and bare.”  Jenner forced her legs apart.  “Watch yourself.”  
  
Faith looked up to see her reflection in the mirrored glass covering the elevator doors.  She was naked from knees to breasts, trussed for Jenner’s pleasure, unable to free herself.  His fingers played across her skin, and though she could see them if she looked down, in the mirror there was nothing.  
  
Jenner leaned in close to her, and Faith could feel his hard cock against her butt.  “So, baby, did you fuck the one who shaved you?”  
  
Faith figured she’d shock him by telling him the truth.  “No…but I let her eat my pussy whenever she wanted.”  
  
Instead of shocking him, Jenner just laughed, plunging two fingers in her pussy.  “Oh, you have to let me watch.”  
  
She was hot and slick and needed no more foreplay.  “Start fucking me and I’ll let you do anything.”  
  
Jenner grinned, sliding his fingers from her grasping pussy.  He offered them to her and Faith sucked them into her mouth.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Unlike Faith, Sam heard every word between the other two vampires.  He hadn’t known, until Spike spilled the whole story to Jenner, what had happened to Angel and why all the Aurelian vampires had gathered in Sunnydale.  
  
He almost didn’t believe the tale.  
  
It was hard to fathom.  
  
Angel had fathered a child.  
  
Vampires weren’t supposed to be able to procreate like humans.  
  
Sam listened to the tale of Angel and his erstwhile soul, his mind trying to comprehend it all.  None of it made any sense.  
  
Angelus had been cursed with a soul.  
  
He either hadn’t bothered to learn about it, or didn’t inform his sometime girlfriend, who just happened to be the Slayer. and after one – and only one – sexual encounter, broke the curse.  
  
After being re-cursed, he’d left for Los Angeles, where somehow his sire and Jenner’s had been brought back and she’d gotten pregnant.  And no one really understood how.  
  
Despite being without a soul, Darla had sacrificed herself for the baby.  And judging by Jenner’s reaction to the news, Sam realized the unknown Darla had done a complete turn-around, done something selfless.  Yet that same moment had unleashed Angelus again.  Sam was having a hard time assimilating all this.  He hadn’t even known abut the soul until Spike told him – yesterday?  
  
 _Was it only yesterday that I willingly traded away my loyalty?_   Sam was suddenly hit with a wave of confusion, leaving him reeling on his feet.  He staggered over to the tree, almost bonelessly slumping down onto the damp grass.  The events of the last few days and the overload of information finally caught up with him.  He’d been turned by a vampire with a soul, which explained so much about his own constantly muddled state.  Why he sometimes couldn’t finish a meal, why he shied away from certain humans.  Sam chuckled, a low crazed sound that stuttered and hesitated in his throat.  He knew he didn’t have a soul, but he had _something_ – something aside from the moral code his parents had instilled in him as a child.  Something setting him apart from the other vampires.  The laugh bounced around the air surrounding him and Sam thought about all the people he’d killed over the last sixty or so years – and the laugh choked into a heartbroken sob.  
  
If only he’d known.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“When you say save, you mean like saving her from death or like prison?  Or, like, what exactly do you mean?”  
  
The woman lifted her eyes to study the Slayer, who was unconsciously wringing her hands.  A soft smile briefly crossed her lips, though the kindness never reached her eyes.  “He means would you grant her grace.  Give her absolution for her betrayal.  Would you give her a chance to redeem herself?”  
  
An expectant hush swept through the assemblage and Buffy felt the weight of all the otherworldly attention upon her.  _Good question.  Wish I knew the answer._ Ignoring her brain’s commands, Buffy blurted out a soft, “I don’t really know.”  
  
  
  
  
  
    



	68. Wither Into Truth

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 68.  Wither Into Truth  
  
Though leaves are many, the root is one;  
Through all the lying days of my youth  
I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun;  
Now I may wither into the truth.  
    W.B. Yeats, The Coming of Wisdom with Time  
  
We know the truth, not only by the reason, but also by the heart.  
    Blaise Pascal, Thoughts, Chap. x.  
  
Come by the hills to the land  
where fancy is free  
And stand where the peaks meet the sky  
and the rocks reach the sea  
Where the rivers run clear and the bracken  
is gold in the sun  
And cares of tomorrow must wait  
till this day is done.  
  
Come by the hills to the land  
where life is a song  
And sing while the birds fill the air  
with their joy all day long  
Where the trees sway in time, and even  
the wind sings in tune  
And cares of tomorrow must wait  
till this day is done.  
    Trad. Irish Song  
_**  
  
  
Spike stalked through the silent streets of Sunnydale, his thoughts and emotions in a whirl.  Nothing was making much sense, his brain unable to focus on any one single thought.  Everything came circling back – every thought returned to one thing.  His lodestone, his true north.  _Buffy_.  He could feel her, teasing at the edges of his awareness, their bond stretched far, though still vibrant, still strong.  
  
It centered him, kept him from howling his anguished confusion at the night sky.  Kept him anchored and focused on what he needed to do.    
  
What he wanted to do was work off the nerves and excess energy buzzing through his muscles, keeping him from being able to stay and wait in hospital with Wesley while Tara got sorted out.  Unfortunately for him nothing demonic was stirring.  Everything was quiet.    
  
And really, he should have had enough violence for one night.  They’d come through the confrontation with Angelus relatively unscathed, nothing but minor wounds here and there.  Scraped knuckles, wrenched knees, a bite or two.  Although not much more than that, and Tara was the only one seriously hurt, though she would survive.  
  
He was restless, unable to calm the ragged edges of his frayed temper.  Worry for Buffy  – _it’s a helluva lot easier to worry ‘bout her than it is about . . ._ Spike refused to even think the boy’s name, knowing the sharp pain riding his gut was all about the little one.  _Nipper’s gonna . . ._  
  
A rolling growl ended his thoughts and Spike forcefully turned his steps back toward the house.  He’d been gone over an hour, closer to two, and hopefully, Giles and Anya had some answers for him.    
  
The thought of Connor being on his own, defenseless and scared, fodder for whatever haunted the godforsaken place Willow may have banished him to, made him break into a run.   
_  
Can’t leave him alone . . .  Gotta find him._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She woke up as Spike was carrying her into the emergency room, but Tara didn’t move, nor speak until he was gone.  The tension in his limbs easily communicated itself to her and Tara couldn’t think of anyway to help ease it.  Wasn’t hard to figure out what had him so upset.  The list was endless, or nearly so. . . _they’d won – or whatever it could be called but at what cost?_  
  
Buffy had gone with the Huntsman to who knew where – _Willow_ – to judge Willow.  Tara stared at the bland walls of the hospital room, trying very hard not to think of her former girlfriend.  Yet she couldn’t wipe the image of her darkness from her mind’s eye.  Willow didn’t even look like herself.  Dark eyes matched with even darker hair . . .     A soft hitching sob broke from her and Tara held her fist against her mouth, stifling the tears.  
  
This wasn’t going to help, crying about Willow, about all the really horrible things that had been happening.  _Gotta focus on what can be done.  What I can do to help._   Tara forced her tired brain to remember exactly what she’d said and done to protect Connor.  
  
All through the doctor’s examination, through the stitching, Tara replayed those moments in her head.    
  
She and Wesley were halfway home when the answer dawned.  “Wes?”  
  
He glanced at her, noting the drained look in her eyes and the pallor of her skin.   
  
“I think I know where Connor is.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Buffy stared down at her feet, nervously chewing on her lower lip.  Every couple of seconds her eyes would stray to either Willow or the woman, trying to come up with an answer.  
  
 _Would I save Willow?_  
  
The silence seemed to last too long, leaving Buffy without any sense of direction.  
 _  
 **Should** I save Willow?_  
  
Was the girl lying on the floor the same girl who’d been her best friend?  Buffy was suddenly struck with the idea that she barely knew this girl.  Couldn’t reconcile shy, geeky Willow with this powerful, power-hungry woman.  Was there a part of her that remembered?  
  
 _Do I **wanna** save Willow?  
  
Is there **anything** left to save?_  
  
A soft groan sounded from Willow and Buffy stepped back away from her.  _Not ready for you to wake up just yet._   The redheaded woman must have somehow understood Buffy’s distress or read her mind somehow, because she stepped closer, the hem of her gown brushing against Willow’s feet.  She wasn’t looking at her though, her steady gaze remained focused on Buffy.  “Rest easy.  She cannot awaken until I bid her so.”  
  
“Okay.  Thanks.”  Buffy didn’t move any closer though, preferring to keep her distance.  As much as she used to trust her friend, this was not that Willow.    
  
“Perhaps, Reiht Aonair, it would help for you to understand what was taken without care or proper obeisance.”  
  
She waved a hand, and one of the others moved from the crowd, coming to stand before them.  The redheaded woman spoke quietly, the language rippling like water over a brook, in words Buffy couldn’t understand.    
  
“Um.  Not that I wanna be rude or anything, but what did you call me?  And who are you?”  The words blurted out of her before she could stop them and Buffy blushed brightly, an apologetic look crossing her face.  
  
Instead of reacting angrily, as she expected, the first woman threw back her head, emitting a short bark of laughter.  “Taken to task by a mere slip of a girl, how ridiculous.”  
  
The second woman spoke, raising an eyebrow at the first.  “Perhaps then you should give her your name.”  
  
“I had forgotten in all the rush that the Slayer does not know of us.”  Addressing Buffy, she inclined her head.  “Forgive me.  I am Arianrhod and this one who reminds me of my manners is Ceridwen.  It was she whom the witch called upon to return you from my hall.”  
  
Buffy stared at her, her mouth hanging open.  “I was never . . .  I don’t remember . . . anything like this.”  Her voice trailed off, tears suddenly springing to her eyes.  “You mean I wasn’t in heaven?”  
  
  
              
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The only noise in the quiet house was the constant shuffle of turning pages and the almost silent movement of pen on paper.  Giles was frantically looking for any clues, any information, anything that would help them find Connor.  Time was not something they could readily afford to waste.  Connor was scarcely three months old.  If they were lucky – and that was a huge if – Tara had been able to divert the boy, saving him from certain and immediate death.  Although that might only be wishful thinking.  
  
Their luck wasn’t always of the best, though Giles was shouting random prayers inside his head as he looked for answers, though they somehow managed to pull through.  Hopefully that would be the case again.  
  
He glanced up when Anya slammed a book shut.  “We aren’t going to find anything here.”  
  
“We have to keep looking.  The answer must be here somewhere.”  He stared at the few notes he’d written and a soft sigh escaped him.  “We cannot stop, Anya, we have to find a way to save the boy.”  
  
Her sharp features softened and her lower lip wobbled.  Hastily she wiped the few tears seeping from her eyes, then slammed her fist down on the table.  “I hope they’re doing something about Willow.  She’s insane, Giles, crazed with power.”  
  
“I know.”  Silence fell between them, because there was nothing more for Giles to add to her comments.  They both knew Willow had crossed a line.  Visibly forcing himself back to the matter at hand, Rupert glanced at the page in front of Anya.  “What is that?”  
  
“Everything Joyce said to us and what the Huntsman just said.”  
  
Rupert felt a jolt at her words and gestured toward the page.  “May I?”   
  
“Sure, here you go.”  Anya slid it across the table, watching him closely.  His eyes slid down the page, flicking quickly through the words.    
  
“Good God.”  He lifted his head up, eyes meeting hers.  “I do believe you’ve done it, Anya.  The answer is right here.”  
  
“What answer?”  
  
“Blood is the Key.”  He reached for her hand.  “I know how to get Connor back.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
His hands weren’t cold.  They should have been.  There should be tremors, shivers wrought by the touch of cold fingers on hot flesh.  
  
There were shivers – but not from cold.  
  
Everywhere he touched her, cold fire erupted, igniting her skin.  
  
 _Holy fuck. . ._  
  
He barely touched her, fingertips trailing over her flushed skin, skimming atop her breasts, blunt teeth nipping.  Faith tried not to react, tried to hide her response to him, but Jenner forced her to acknowledge him.  To see him – he wasn’t going to let her hide behind the sex.  
  
Jenner slid his fingers over her slick pussy, his teeth clamping down gently on a distended nipple.  He pulled on her clit, with a dip and a swirl, watching her arch and writhe against his firm touch.  
  
“Talk to me, baby.  Tell me what you’re feeling.”  
  
Only an incoherent grunt greeted his request and Jenner rumbled a low laugh against the top of her thigh.  Faith squirmed, fighting to get away and to get closer.  
  
Every inch of her skin was aflame, heat radiating from beneath.  No spot was immune, no part of her able to resist his touch.  Her body rose to his fingers, fought her brain’s feeble commands to fight against the need.  
  
A tiny rational part of her brain was screaming to get away, while her body wanted to feel every last nuance.  
  
Jenner focused his attention on the dark-eyed girl, delighting in her resistance.  Her surrender would be so much the sweeter.  He nuzzled the bare flesh of her pussy, biting just hard enough to raise tiny welts.  Her pulse thrummed loudly against his ear, the blood rushing through her veins as enticing as other fluids.  Jenner spread her legs wide, no longer caring about keeping her trussed and bit down hard on her wildly throbbing femoral artery.  
  
Faith bucked, thrashing jerkily, her voice moaning, stifling the scream building in her throat.  
  
Jenner surged up, his hands slapping down on either side of Faith’s head.  Wedging his hips between her legs, Jenner growled softly into her ear.  “Goin’ to take you now, Slayer.  Goin’ to make you scream my name.”  
  
Faith glared up at him, fires burning in her dark eyes.  “I’m not a screamer.”  
  
His laugh went through her, and his right hand slid between their bodies.  With a flick and a hard twist, Jenner slid his cock balls deep into her warm channel.  Faith caught herself, stopping the shriek of surprise before it could rattle the walls.  
  
“You will be, little girl, you will be.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
If she could toss and turn, she would have been, but because of her still very sore broken ribs, Dawn was forced to lie very still.  
  
 _I really hate sleeping on my back.  Really.  The ceiling is only interesting for so long anyway.  Why am I up here?  
  
Oh, right.  Wesley brought me up.  Said I should rest.  Yeah.  Right.  Like that’s possible right now.  I’ll just lie here and be all useless while everyone else tries to figure out what the hell happened to Connor and where Buffy went.  
_  
Dawn stared up at the ceiling, knowing she wasn’t going to get any sleep any time soon.  She could hear movement downstairs, straining to catch any stray noise.  
  
 _How sucky is it that I got vamp DNA and no cool extra perks?  Like extra good hearing would be really useful.  Or super fast healing.  Instead, I get to be a glowy green can opener.  That so sucks._  
  
A car door slammed and moments later another.  Mere seconds passed before the front door creaked open and Dawn counted the seconds until it, too, was closed.  
 _  
Huh.  Who was out. . . and why?_  
  
Giving up completely on trying to sleep, Dawn struggled to get out of bed.  
  
In less time than she expected, Dawn was heading down the stairs, listening to the others discussing ways to get Connor back.  When she hit the landing, Tara was speaking, her voice strained and low, but devoid of any hesitation.   Dawn let the gist of them wash over her, though she paid more attention after Tara mentioned ‘other dimensions’.  
  
It was Giles’ words that had her moving at a faster clip down the stairs.  “Anya wrote down everything Gaia told the girls earlier and also what the Huntsman said.”  He paused and Dawn held back the inappropriate giggle that was threatening – _he’s so cleaning his glasses_ – and then gasped.  
  
“Gaia told you ‘the price isn’t permanent and only a dead man can cross the boundaries’.  Couple that with what the Huntsman said, ‘blood calls to blood and blood is the key’. I think we have our answers right here.”  
  
Dawn shook as she finally placed her feet firmly on the first floor.  Her bare feet were silent as she rounded the dining room door, but her voice didn’t waver once when she spoke into the sudden silence.  
  
“You need me to open a doorway.  I’m the Key.  Blood is the only. . . my blood will do it.”  
  
Wesley got to his feet, preparing to argue, when Giles looked up.  “I’m sorry, Dawn, but yes, I do believe that will be necessary.”  
  
“Will it work without draining me?”  
  
“I believe all we need would be three drops, provided we have some way to either keep the portal open or a way for Spike to open it from the other side.”  
  
She paled a bit, more from the strain of getting down the stairs than the thought of having to bleed, though Wesley misinterpreted it.  “You don’t have to, Dawn.  We can find another way.”  
  
“It’s okay, Wes.  We don’t have a whole lot of time.”  Dawn slowly slid into the chair he’d just vacated, smiling sadly up at him.  “Besides, it’ll be nice to have my blood do something good for a change, instead of something destructive.”  
  
Wesley stared at the top of her bowed head, not really sure he was understanding what Dawn had just said.  “You do know the Key is neither good nor evil, it just is.  How it’s employed relies solely upon the intentions of those seeking to use the Key.”  
  
“Huh?  What’s that supposed to mean?”  Dawn shifted in her chair, warily eyeing Wesley.    
  
“A pen is just a pen, correct?  It is neither good nor evil.  Its only purpose is as a tool for writing.  The same applies to the Key.  Your blood is just a tool.  It’s virtue depends on the intentions of the user.”  
  
“Great.  So now I’m just a tool.  Thanks, Wes.”  
  
He rushed to apologize, realizing too late he’d actually hurt her feelings, but Dawn brushed him off.  “It’s okay.  I get what you’re trying to say.”  She looked around, feeling uncomfortable with their sympathetic stares.  “So, you need my blood. How soon are we gonna do this?”  
  
“Not until ‘m satisfied there’s no other way to do this, Bit.”  
  
Spike stood in the doorway, an implacable look on his features.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Heaven is a Christian concept, child.  Do you think non-Christian heroes go there or do they have their own idea of an eternal resting place?”  
  
Buffy stared at the two women, her mind totally blank.  She shook her head, mainly because it appeared to be what they expected, but she couldn’t comprehend what was being said.  
  
“Long before there were Christians, there were heroes and slayers – those who died protecting the world, or their portion of it.  Do you honestly think they all went to the Christian version of heaven?”  
  
Arianrhod looked kindly at Buffy’s continual confusion and explained further.  “Even after, there have been slayers who were not Christian.  There have been numerous slayers from the East and yet others who followed no religion at all.”  
  
She leaned forward, whispering so only Buffy could hear.  “Truth is; I had to fight long and hard with the Vikings.  They wanted you badly, my dear, though I prevailed in the end.”  
  
The Goddess looked so happily smug that Buffy couldn’t help herself.  She burst into laughter, then fought the sobs that sprang up suddenly.  “So I wasn’t in heaven?”  
  
Shaking her head, Arianrhod tried again.  “Dear one, you were in a kind of heaven.  A place where only heroes are welcome.  A place of reward and rest.”  
  
Ceridwen snickered, teasingly adding, “Just no Christians to speak of.”  
  
Arianrhod straightened to her full height, raising an eyebrow.  “Hush.  Try not to scare the girl.”  
  
Another snicker greeted that statement, though the blond Goddess held her tongue, waiting for her counterpart to finish.  “Do you understand me, child?”  
  
“I think so.”  Buffy nodded her head, comprehension finally dawning.  “The place where I was, was like a sort of heaven.”  
  
“Yes.”  Gwyn spoke again, interrupting the women.  “Ladies, we have little time.”  
  
Arianrhod sighed.  “Very well.”  Motioning to Ceridwen, she continued, “Show her.”  
  
The other goddess smiled a bit sadly, then pointed an elegant long finger at the closest alcove.  Nestled inside the alcove, partially obscured by a sheer shimmering gold-indigo curtain, was a large, highly polished cauldron.  The outside was hammered gold, though it rested on a low, squat tripod of rough, dark metal.  Wisps of steam rose above the surface and the blond goddess motioned Buffy toward it.  
  
“Come look.”  
  
Ceridwen watched her approach it, and just before Buffy could reach out a hand to touch it, she spoke again, “Do not touch.  Look into the depths and learn.”  
  
The waters on the surface rippled, lapping at the edges, then stilled.  “You cannot judge the betrayer without knowing all.”  
  
Images of Willow searched through books and on the computer began forming, though there was no sound.  Ceridwen watched for a moment, shifting her attention to the dumbfounded Slayer.  
  
“It begins.”  
  
Everything Willow had done, from lying to Xander first – to the last, stealing Connor and threatening everyone, played out in the waters. Only this time with a running commentary in Willow’s voice of her thoughts as it all happened.  
  
By the end, Buffy was a shaking mess, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.  “Why did she do this?”  Lifting wounded, tear-filled eyes, Buffy again asked the two goddesses.  “Why?”


	69. A doubtful choice

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 69.  A doubtful choice  
  
Heaven is impartial.   
    Chinese proverb.  
  
True, Heaven prohibits certain pleasures;   
but one can generally negotiate a compromise.   
    Molière [Jean Baptiste Poquelin], Tartuffe, act 4, sc. 5   
  
You have many choices.   
You can choose forgiveness over revenge,   
joy over despair.   
You can choose action over apathy...   
    Stephanie Marston, The Divorced Parent  
  
A doubtful choice, of these three which to crave,  
a kingdom, or a cottage, or a grave.   
    Edward De Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford, A Choice _**  
  
  
  
There was no other way around it.  No other easy solution presented itself in the two hours they’d been looking since Spike’s return to the house.  The longer they hesitated, the slimmer Connor’s chances got.  They had to decide.    
  
An hour earlier, Spike had gotten up then helped Dawn to her feet.  “C’mon, pet, need you to do somethin’ for me.”  
  
They shuffled slowly to the door, where Spike left her alone.  “Be right back.”  
  
He was gone only seconds and when he returned, it was with a shell-shocked Lawson trailing behind him.  “Need you to invite him in, Bit.”  
  
Dawn stared at the two vampires, looking pointedly at Lawson.  A steely light glittered in her blue eyes for a heartbeat or two, and Dawn asked, “You aren’t going to hurt anyone in here, are you?”  
  
“No.”  
  
The one word answer was apparently enough.  Dawn stepped back and with a hand on Spike’s arm for support, she said, “Please come in, Lawson.”  
  
That was the only break any of them took while searching for alternative answers.  Finally Spike conceded defeat, throwing in the proverbial towel.  “All right then, we’ve no choice.”  
  
He slammed the flats of both hands down on the table, startling everyone into complete wakefulness.  “We do it.”  
  
The room was silent, everyone lost in his or her own thoughts.  Giles was the first to speak, his low voice filling the room.  “The prospect of using Dawn for any reason,” he paused then, giving the girl a soft apologetic look, “gives me pause.  Unfortunately, I fear we’ve exhausted all other avenues.”  
  
Dawn returned his smile, quickly looking to Spike for direction.  “So what do we do now?”  
  
“Do you remember how we closed the portal before?”  Tara’s voice was soft, and she ducked her head to avoid looking at Dawn directly.    
  
“Yeah, I remember.”  
  
“We’re going to do the same thing.  Your blood will open the gateway, while Wesley and I perform the ritual.  Spike is going to go through the portal and hopefully get Connor back.”  
  
Wesley added, “Once Spike goes through the portal, the rest of us will help keep the portal open until his return.”  
  
Dawn expected all this, though none of it really made her happy, especially this part.  “Spike’s going alone?”  
  
“Huntsman said the dogs will help.  The beasties are outside, sleeping on the porch.”  He was up, pacing again, unable to sit still.  
  
At this, Giles looked up.  “Is it wise to go alone?”  
  
“Can’t bring anyone else with me.  Joyce told the girls only a dead man can cross the boundaries.  ‘S simple. I’m dead.  I go.”  
  
For the first time since he’d entered the house, Lawson spoke.  “I can go also.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Her reasons are myriad.  She cannot accept disorder, in truth she cannot abide it.  Those who will not accept the negative are destined to be controlled by it.”  The blond goddess motioned Buffy away from the cauldron.  
  
“When fears are allowed to fester, they consume.”  
  
Confusion flooded Buffy and she shook her head.  “I’m not sure I understand.”  
  
“Focusing on your fears, allowing them to become real, allows those fears to consume and manifest.  Accepting them lessens the fears, makes them a thing conquerable.”  
  
There was silence between them while Ceridwen led Buffy away from the alcove, toward where Arianrhod and Gwyn waited patiently.  Halfway back, Buffy suddenly stopped, everything Ceridwen had said and everything she’d just seen slammed into her and as understanding dawned, Buffy stumbled.  
  
Gwyn was the first to her side as the Slayer crumpled.  He easily lifted her slight weight, holding her close to his chest.  He could feel the hitch in her breathing, a clear indication she was still crying, albeit silently.  Concern and sympathy greeted his actions, and both women moved to clear the room, leaving the five of them alone.    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
No heart thumped in his chest, no blood pumped through his veins and yet his body hummed every time he touched her.  Every nerve in his body pulsed, every inch of his skin thrummed.  Jenner’s whole body was vibrating.  
  
Faith’s nails raked down from his shoulder, across his chest, leaving viscous trails of blood.  Her fingers pulled on his nipples and when he growled at her in warning, all she did was laugh at him.  
  
In retaliation, Jenner slid his hand beneath her, cupping her butt in his hand.  When Faith did little more than arch her hips again, Jenner changed tactics.  Pinning her down with a forceful hand, he moved, his mouth hovering over her breast.  Biting at her distended nipples, Jenner teased his length against her dripping pussy.  
  
Faith scratched at him, snarling and bucking while he bit down a little too hard.  “Bastard.”  
  
There was just enough surrender and heat in her voice, letting him know she wasn’t entirely adverse to his rough play.  Jenner grinned, knowing he had her.  
  
Using his free hand, Jenner held himself poised at her entrance, then looked up at Faith from under dark brows.  “You will scream.”  
  
“No, I won’t.”  
  
Jenner’s only response was a low chuckle and the thrust of his cock inside her.  Without any hint of tenderness, he thrust hard, lodging himself deep inside.  
  
“Yeah, Faith, you will.”  
  
                                                  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Once they were certain of the ritual and just how sure Lawson was about accompanying Spike,  they wasted no time getting supplies assembled.  
  
Tara was steadily drinking orange juice, and both Wesley and Spike had insisted she eat a rare hamburger or steak before they attempted the portal opening.  When she balked, Spike had pulled out all stops, asking her, “You don’t wanna make any mistakes coz you’re feelin’ a bit poorly, do you?  Need you to be full strength, pet, so’s all goes well.”  
  
She stared at him, unable to believe, for the moment, that he would actually manipulate her that way.  “You know, Spike, that’s really not fair.”  
  
He feigned innocence.  “Wha?”  
  
Tara didn’t bother to hide her smile.  “You know exactly what.”  Staring at him for a minute longer, she relented.  “Fine.  I’ll eat a burger, but not raw or even too rare.”  
  
“Don’t much care how you cook it, Glinda, so long as you eat it.”  Satisfied she was going to do as he wished, Spike headed upstairs to get a few of Connor’s things.  
  
Anya was flitting about during their whole exchange, cleaning and preparing the backpacks the two vampires were taking with them.  Giles was conferring with Wesley on the details of the ritual, both men keeping half an ear open for Spike’s return.  
  
Lawson sat quietly with Dawn, watching everything.  He wasn’t sure what to think about these humans his sire spent time with, unable to comprehend his acceptance into their group.  He had no illusions that any one of them would let him live should he turn on them, but Lawson didn’t know how to explain that he wasn’t about to do that.  It had been nearly sixty years since he’d felt anything like this and he wasn’t about to throw it away because he was hungry.  
  
Instead, he politely asked the girl sitting beside him, “Excuse me, Dawn?  But I need to get something to eat before I go.  Is there somewhere I can get blood?”  
  
Dawn stared at him for a minute, breaking into an embarrassed smile.  “Ooops.  I forgot.”  Then she called out, “Anya, could you heat two mugs of blood for Spike and Lawson?  There’s stuff in the fridge on the bottom shelf.”  
  
Before she finished speaking, Anya had plopped a mug down in front of Lawson.  “Already done, Dawn.”  And with a pointed look at the speechless vampire, Anya continued, “If you need more it’s in the refrigerator.  You can heat it in the microwave.”  
  
Spike came thundering down the stairs, the backpack that doubled as Connor’s baby bag clenched tightly in his fist.  “Think I got everythin’.”    
  
Spying the mug in Lawson’s hand, Spike said, “Demon girl, got any there for me?”  
  
“Sure, Spike, there’s more inside.  I’ll warm it up.”  Anya moved into the kitchen, to get more blood and to finish cooking Tara’s burger.    
  
Once they’d all eaten, and everything was in place, Spike helped Dawn outside, his arm around her waist, both of them moving at her slow pace.   Wesley, with help from Anya and Lawson had set up a makeshift pool, by stealing a small plastic kiddie pool from the neighbor’s two doors away.  The pool had been washed and refilled, the water sanctified by a brief ritual and the small addition of salt and other herbs.  
  
They were as ready as they could be, and with a quick kiss on Dawn’s forehead, Spike stepped back, allowing the girls room to maneuver.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Tara grasped hold of Dawn’s right hand, and with her athame, swiped a thin cut down the middle of her palm.  Closing the younger girl’s fist over, Tara held it over the pool, her voice chanting softly.  After a few words, Wesley and Giles joined her, adding their voices and power to Tara’s.  
  
A rift opened in the sky, starting at about the same spot Connor had been before Willow blasted him, arrowing down to the ground, just feet from where the group was standing.  Instead of watching the rift widen, Spike kept his eyes on the girls, making sure they were okay.  Both of them seemed to be holding up, although he could see the effects of her exertions beginning to show on Tara’s face.  
  
Long before he thought they were ready, Wesley pointed toward the shimmering opening, saying, “It’s time, Spike.”  
  
Pushing Lawson ahead of him, Spike grabbed their packs and, with a long look at Dawn, he turned to go.  As he stepped into the portal, Spike stared in turn to the two Watchers, “Keep a eye out for the girls.  If you have to, close the gate an’ get us later.”  
  
Then the two vampires were gone.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She came to slowly, the strange scents and feel of unusual fabrics tickling her senses.  At first, Buffy wasn’t entirely certain of her whereabouts, and she held off opening her eyes as long as possible, until the amused voice of one of her hosts’ signaled their awareness of her state.  
  
“Come, now, child, I know you are awake.”  
  
Somewhat grudgingly, Buffy grumbled, “You sound a lot like my mother used to.”  
  
Her companion laughed, reveling in the unexpected response.  “I will take that as a compliment, my dear.  Are you feeling any better?”  
  
Buffy finally rolled over onto her back, flopping one hand off the edge of the chaise.  “Yeah.  Sort of.  My brain is all confused, though.”  
  
“That comes as no surprise.”  Arianrhod moved into Buffy’s line of sight, a kind smile on her face.  “Betrayal is a vicious blade, my dear.  Wielded only by those close enough to use it effectively.  It cuts the deepest also, because it is a heart-strike.”  
  
Buffy sat up, leaning on her elbows, watching the goddess move about the room.  “What do you mean?”  
  
“Only those we love can betray us.”  The goddess fixed her dark purple eyes on the slight form of the Slayer.  “You have felt this before.  Although, I believe this time has proven to be the deepest cut of all.”  Arianrhod sat down on the edge of the chaise, an elegant hand reaching for Buffy’s.  “Your Willow has yet to understand she cannot control others.  Deep inside, she is still a little girl, unable to control ought.”  
  
“So that’s what she wanted.  Control, right?”  Buffy sat up a straighter, searching for some answers.  
  
The goddess nodded.  “It was not so much power, though she has much of that.”  She shook her head slowly, sadness creeping into her eyes.  “There is much potential within her, and sad I am to watch it go to waste.”  
  
Buffy stared at the other woman, her thoughts whirling in her head from one subject to the next.  “I can’t help her, can I?”   
  
A sigh ripped from the other.  “No.  I believe you cannot.”  
  
Silence filled the room, both women lapsing into deep contemplation.  Their words from earlier kept surfacing in Buffy’s head, especially the ones about heaven.  She was curious about the description – and non-Christian heroes being welcomed.  If there was a place where any kind of hero was able to go after dying . . .  Buffy fought against the flicker of hope surging through her.  _Maybe . . ._  
  
“What you said before, about heaven, was that really how things are?”  
  
Brief confusion crossed her companion’s features and then an amused half-grin rested on her lips.  “How things are?  You mean in my hall?”  
  
“Is that what it’s called?”  
  
“Caer Arianrhod is my hall, yes.  And what exactly are you asking me?”  
  
“You said no Christians.  Did you mean that?  About any heroes?”  Buffy’s expression was earnest, her hazel eyes glowing with green and gold lights.  
  
Real laughter filled the other’s gaze and Arianrhod’s smile grew wider as she answered Buffy’s unspoken question.  “Any hero.  Male or female . . .  Human or not.  All are welcome in my hall.”  
  
“So, if any hero is welcome, then, ah. . . there would be room for a vampire.”  Buffy held her breath, hoping the goddess would understand what it was Buffy was asking of her.  
  
Arianrhod didn’t disappoint.  “When the time comes, the doors of my hall will be open, for both of you.”  
  
The grin she received in response was blinding and Arianrhod could do nothing but laugh.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Hawkins walked the streets of Sunnydale, his mind refusing to think about either his sire or Glynnis.  Thinking about either threatened to break his heart.  He didn’t know which way to turn.  Part of him needed the comfort and security of his sire’s presence, but a bigger part of him was so immeasurably angry over the night’s events.  
  
He hadn’t let his emotions rule him in a very long time, and Hawkins was determined not to give in now.  Time was something he needed; time to come to grips with losing Glynnis and time to forgive Jenner.  
  
Instead of heading for the hotel, Hawkins headed for the racing sloop Jenner had ordered sailed from Bristol to New York, while the rest of them made the trip by air.  Jenner would forgive him, eventually.  But for right now, Hawkins didn’t much care about Jenner’s reaction.  
  
Barking out orders to the demon crew, Hawkins headed below decks, just beating out the sun.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike stepped through the portal, almost bumping into Lawson’s back.  The other vampire had stopped short, reluctant to head into the muted sunlight.  
  
“Watch it, mate, you’re blocking the door.”  Realizing what had stopped his companion, Spike stepped next to him, gazing out at the barren landscape.  “Have you tried yet?”  
  
“No, was waiting for you.”  The hounds sat quietly at their feet, both of them waiting for signals from their temporary owner.  
  
Before letting them loose, Spike inhaled deeply, then stepped forward into the blue-tinged sunlight.  Anticipating having to run back into the shade, Spike was poised to move quickly, though after a few moments, it was clear he wasn’t in any danger.  
  
“C’mon then, let’s get a move.  Won’t find the boy hiding in the shadows.”  
  
Lawson took two steps forward, obviously wary of the strange light.  “You sure about this, chief?”  
  
“Got no choice.  Have to get the sprog, bring ‘m home.”  Spike clucked his teeth and the hounds stood to attention.  “Can’t leave the babe to fend for himself.  He’d never last.”  
  
Bending down, Spike unzipped the boy’s backpack, searching for something of his the hounds could use to track Connor’s scent.  Finding a sleeper, Spike held it out.  “They’ll be much faster than you an’ I could be.  With luck, they’ll find him right quick.”  
  
The hounds sniffed at the dark blue sleeper, growling low in their throats.  The first, a black red-brindled male sniffed low to the ground, scenting for the boy, while the second, a mostly dark red female, sniffed at the air.  As one, they howled, catching the scent at the same moment.  
  
Spike shared a look with Lawson and together they set off to follow the hounds.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Are you ready to make a decision?”  Gwyn interrupted, standing in the doorway, watching the two women.  
  
Buffy shrugged, her mood altered by the question and the intrusion.  Sliding out from beneath the blankets covering her, Buffy stared sightlessly at the wall hangings. “I don’t know.  What happens if I decide not to forgive Willow?”  
  
The Lord of the Wild Hunt sighed, stepping further into the room.  “Then she ceases to exist.”  
  
“So Willow dies.  What happens to me?”  Buffy still wouldn’t look at either of them, reaching out a hand to touch the rich blue fabric in front of her.  _It’s so blue.  I wonder if Spike’s eyes would be this blue in sunlight?  
_  
“You have another choice.”  The two gods shared a look behind Buffy’s back that would have been impossible for her to interpret had she seen it.  
  
“Another one?  Why so many?”  She finally turned then, to stare at the other two.  “What have you got for me this time?”  
  
“Your choice, if you decide not to forgive Willow, would be to stay in Arianrhod’s hall, where you’ve earned your place.”  
  
“I could stay here?  What happens then?”  
  
“You stay here, and nothing from the moment of your death occurs.”  
  
Buffy looked between them, the horrifying choice laid out before her.  Stay here, in heaven  or go back to Sunnydale.  
  
 _Heaven. . ._ where she was done, all her battles fought and there was nothing but peace.  
 _  
Sunnydale . . ._ where who knew how many more fights waited, where she wasn’t done at all – and there wasn’t any peace – except for what small moments she found in Spike’s arms.  
  
Heaven.  
  
Or Spike. . .


	70. Into the Mystic

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 70.  Into the Mystic  
  
The road now leads onward  
As far as can be  
Winding lanes  
And hedgerows in threes  
By purple mountains  
And round every bend  
All roads lead to you  
There is no journey’s end.  
  
Here is my heart and I give it to you  
Take me with you across this land  
These are my dreams, so simple and few  
Dreams we hold in the palm of our hands  
  
Deep in the winter  
Amidst falling snow  
High in the air  
Where the bells they all toll  
And now all around me  
I feel you still here  
Such is the journey  
No mystery to fear.  
  
Here is my heart and I give it to you  
Take me with you across this land  
These are my dreams, so simple and few  
Dreams we hold in the palm of our hands  
  
The road now leads onward  
And I know not where  
I feel in my heart  
That you will be there  
Whenever a storm comes  
Whatever our fears  
The journey goes on  
As your love ever nears  
  
Here is my heart and I give it to you  
Take me with you across this land  
These are my dreams, so simple and few  
Dreams we hold in the palm of our hands  
    Loreena McKennitt, Never-ending Road (Amhram duit), from An Ancient Muse_**  
  
  
  
  
They had been walking for what Spike guestimated at two hours when the hounds began a series of soft barking yips.  Spike put out a restraining hand, stopping Lawson in his tracks.  “Hang on a mo’.”  
  
Lawson waited, his eyes trained on the two hounds, who were now circling each other, barking louder.  At the same instant, the dogs sat back on their heels, the yips subsiding into soft throaty growls.  The slight breeze died down and Spike got a strange scent, drawing his attention to their left.  He turned, coming face to face with a blinding, pulsing bluish light.  Shielding his eyes, Spike took an involuntary step back, his reflexive retreat from any bright light coming into play.  
  
A lilting, melodic voice sounded from the light and it took Spike a moment to actually comprehend the words.  It had been a very long time since he’d heard Scots Gaelic being spoken.  “She is a very lucky girl.”  
  
He replied in English.  “Wha’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
A form started emerging from the light, and judging by the voice it was female.  “It means exactly what I said.  You are an uncommonly handsome man, William.”  
  
The light flared again, causing both vampires to flinch and cover their faces, then died, lowering to a soft glow.  Protective tears flooded their eyes.  Coalescing into a shadowy figure, the light collapsed in on itself.  
  
Both vampires blinked, gaping at the woman suddenly standing in front of them.   She was tall, clothed in a midnight blue cloak.  Embroidered with silver and lighter blue threads, the cloak was hooded, the edges lined with silvery white fur obscuring her face.  Her dress was a pearly peacock green, visibly changing color every time she moved.  “Greetings, gentle sirs.  Welcome to Srath na siorruidh.”  
  
Spike was frantically trying to remember his Celtic mythology.  Before he could dredge up a memory, the woman waved a hand, dismissing his thoughts.  “Why’re we here?  This where the nipper is?”  
  
“He is and he is not.  In order to leave with him, three tasks you must fulfill.”  She removed the hood, revealing her features to them for the first time.  She was beautiful, long blond hair framing patrician features and vivid blue eyes.  “The boy cannot return home unless you meet each challenge.”  
  
“What the bloody hell?  Wha’s all this about?”  Spike wasn’t going to be lured into some slick game fashioned by Gods or Goddesses or Powers That Be because they wanted to tease and torment them before merely handing over the boy.  
  
“It is not because you are unworthy.”  She stepped closer, a brief smile playing about her lips before it was replaced with a grimmer expression.  “The ruler over these lands requires payment for any being’s traverse.  All we can do is aid your quest.”  
  
Giving her a small snort of disbelief, Spike barked out, “Fine.  Spill, it, your ladyship, so’s we can get on with it.”  
  
“Very well.  I have come to give you warning of what lies ahead.”  She paused,  waiting for a reaction.  When no visible one was forthcoming, she continued.  “Three challenges you will face.  The first is Ynys Gwydr, where all is brought clear.  A bridge between challenges you shall have to cross, and uneasy respite waits on the trail.  Reach Caer Eryres for the second challenge; follow your feet to the next bridge.  Lastly of all is the Ruithil na Claidheamh, where you must prove your prowess.”  
  
Spike stared at her for long moments, his brain running through the translations sluggishly.  It had been many long years since he’d heard the language spoken, and even then it was through the veil of childhood.  His mother didn’t speak it well, only his grandfather had.  And his grandfather had been dead since 1862.  He seriously doubted Lawson knew the any of the language, so it was for him to remember.  
  
“Why are you helping us?”  
  
“Because it is what she would want.”    
  
The answer surprised him a little, because it was the first time his demeanor changed.  His pose altered, swaggering a bit, and he stared at her, his eyes almost as fierce as hers.  “She?”  
  
“Your Slayer.”  A slight smile played about her lips and she moved closer to him.  “Though she did not ask our intervention, we give it freely.  What was done was unplanned, the witch’s reach exceeded all expectations.”  
  
“You’ve seen Buffy?”  He couldn’t mask his concern and didn’t even bother to try.  “Is she  near?”  
  
The woman was shaking her head negatively.  “You cannot reach her from here.  It is not yet time.  She must face her own challenge now.”  
  
“Jus’ tell me if she’s alright.  Can you give me that much?”   He hated how his voice betrayed him, though Spike would be willing to do a lot more than simply ask for word of Buffy.  
  
“I can.  She was well when I left her.”  Opening her cloak, the woman drew out a sword, offering the hilt to Spike.  “You will need this.”  
  
He looked at it skeptically for a moment, before hefting it and testing the balance.  “Lemme guess, this belonged to a great hero, an’ I should use it carefully, right?”  He made a cut with it, hearing the whistle of the air rush past.  “Wasn’t Grendel’s or Arthur’s now, was it?”  
  
A low melodic laugh emitted from her and she shook her head.  “Nay, none quite so grand, though it was wielded by a hero.”  
  
“An’ you’re trustin’ me with it?”  Spike glanced at her, a clear question in his eyes.  
  
“With that and more.  Demon blood makes you more, not less.”  She opened her hand, revealing a leather pouch and a silver flask.  “You will need these also.”  
  
“More?”  He was astounded by her open generosity.    
  
“You shall have need of these before the end is near.”  She laid the items in his hands, then brushed her fingers down his cheek.  “You are uncommon, whether man or demon.  Do not forget so.”  
  
“Thanks, your grace.”  His address made her smile and she inclined her head toward him, and then smiled at Lawson also.    
  
“Time is upon you, William.”  She squeezed his hand and pointed them to the path winding over a hill they hadn’t seen before.  “Follow this path.”  
  
“Fare thee well.”  
  
The bluish light flared once more and then in a blink, she was gone.  
  
Sharing a look, the two vampires set off, Spike setting the sword on his shoulder.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Giles herded the group inside, an eye warily on the rift behind him.  He didn’t think they needed to stand guard, though he was certainly going to keep checking on it.  His leg was beginning to throb, his exertions opening up Drusilla’s bite.  Trying hard to keep the limp from Anya, Giles put his hand on the middle of her back, propelling her forward.  
  
Despite her broken ribs, Wesley had carefully lifted Dawn into his arms.  She half-heartedly protested, though she was secretly relieved. Nesting her head against his shoulder, Dawn finally gave in to the tears she’d been fighting all day.  Safe in his arms, she was able to relax and let her guard down.  Everything hit her, the sustained adrenaline rush collapsing in on itself.  
  
Her family, Buffy and Spike were gone, hopefully not for good; but they were gone nonetheless.  It was something she wasn’t willing to discuss, not even with Wesley.  _They are coming back, both of them.  And Spike is coming home with Connor._   She wasn’t going to think about the alternative.  
  
By unspoken consensus, Giles and Wesley herded the girls into the living room.  After rousting Xander none-too gently from the couch, Wesley laid Dawn down carefully, tucking a throw blanket over her.  Tara slumped down on the floor, her head resting against the couch, while Giles eased into the big armchair.  Every one of them studiously avoided looking at the playpen set up next to the Christmas tree, though they were all more than aware of its current state of emptiness.    
  
Anya, along with Wesley, moved about quietly, making sure the others were comfortable.  Blankets and pillows were brought down from bedrooms, and Anya set out cheese and crackers, although no one even nibbled.  
  
Once Giles sat down, he stretched out his legs, easing his tired body into a more relaxed position.  His uncharacteristic groan of pain brought it all home for Wesley, who turned toward him, yet didn’t actually look at him.  
  
“Rupert . . . do you realize?”  Wesley’s voice trailed off, and Giles grunted at first, then broke the silence.  
  
“Still hasn’t sunk in.  Can’t quite wrap my head around what’s happened.”  He grunted again as Anya slid one of the dining room chairs under his injured leg.  Sparing her a glance, he muttered, “Thank you, my dear,” And continued on to say, “Not quite sure it’ll sink in until everyone’s back.”  
  
Wesley shook his head in agreement.  Surprisingly none of them had suffered a major injury.  The worst was Tara’s shoulder.  It was beyond his imaginings that they’d actually escaped almost unscathed.  
  
It was nothing short of a miracle.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“I don’t fuckin’ believe this shite.”  
  
Spike halted, drawing Lawson’s attention.  He’d been running through the woman’s words, trying to translate the place names she’d given and he exploded in exasperated anger when they reached the shores of a lake.  Along the horizon was a small island, sparkling brighter than the lake itself.  
  
“Bloody cryptic woman.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Ynys Gwydr means glass island.”    
  
Lawson half turned toward him, an obvious question in his eyes. “What exactly does that mean?”  
  
“Not sure myself.  But I do know we have to get across to that island.”  Spike shook his head, looking around for a way to get across the lake.  
  
“You mean like that?”  Lawson pointed his hand over Spike’s shoulder, directing his attention to something resting at the shoreline.  A roundish small boat.  “I guess we’re supposed to use that.”  
  
Spike turned to look over his shoulder, groaning.  “Bloody hell.”  
  
Whirling on his heel, Spike strode over to the boat, grumbling the whole time.  Dumping the backpack, sword and duster in, he motioned for Lawson to do the same.  The instant Spike pushed the boat into floating depth, he jumped in, and the hounds took off, barking loudly, into the water.  
  
Within minutes, they were more than halfway to the island and it was becoming clear there was something odd about the place they were heading toward.  
  
Neither man spoke, instead focusing their thoughts on the words spoken earlier.  Unfortunately, none of the warnings were clear and Lawson had even less insight into the places than Spike did.  Spike was beginning to think the warnings were going to prove less than helpful, anyway.  
  
The woman, whoever she was, had meant to be of assistance, though perhaps she’d been unable to be as clear as she would’ve liked.  Or perhaps he’d not asked the right questions.  Too late to go back now.  Only thing to do was go forward.  
  
As they neared the island, Spike finally understood why she’d called the place “glass island”.  Rocky quartz crystals formed the beach, while larger crystal formations loomed just beyond the first beachfront, and he detected no signs of vegetation.  
  
“Doesn’t look very hospitable.”  Lawson’s voice broke into Spike’s musings.  
  
“No, so it’s a good thing we don’t need any of that.  Though I am happy the sprog’s not here.”  
  
“So what are we supposed to do?”  The boat bumped against dry land, and both men jumped easily into the lapping water.  
  
“Do like the chit said.  Find the bridge an’ follow the path.”  
  
Sam nodded, shouldering his pack.  “Shouldn’t be so hard, chief.”  
  
“I’ve a feeling might not be so easy-like.”  
  
The dogs headed off after shaking the water from their fur, not waiting for the men to follow suit.  Sharing a look, the two vampires did just that.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Xander sat dazedly listening to Giles and Wesley talk, trying to wrap his head around everything that had transpired.  The two older men had progressed from their original subject and were now discussing their thoughts about Willow.  Both were trying to be discrete, aware of Tara’s presence, though their collective need to analyze and chronicle kept overtaking their good sense.  
  
At first Xander couldn’t follow their discussion, his head still ringing from the concussion and his broken nose throbbing in counterpoint.  The words though, began sinking in, and he grew more and more upset with both of them until finally, his outrage got the better of him.  
  
“ _No!_ Willow wouldn’t hurt anyone.  She’s not responsible for any of this.”  
  
Wesley looked over from his position by the Christmas tree where he sat, turning over one of Connor’s toys in his hands.  “I wish that were true, Xander.  Sadly, it is not.”  
  
“How can you say that?  Willow as only doing what she thought was right, saving Buffy from a hell dimension.”  Xander struggled to his feet, agitation written largely in every movement.  
  
“Perhaps in that she might have had the best of intentions, I’ll grant you.  But,” Giles removed his glasses to peer intently at the younger man, “She quickly learned otherwise.  And instead of attempting to make amends, Willow chose to compound her errors.”  
  
“She had nothing to do with the loss of Angel’s soul.  However, the spell she wove allowed all of us to forget he was back.  Willow put Dawn in danger.  As it was, Dawn’s boyfriend lost his life and she very nearly died.”  Wesley got to his feet also, his own temper rising.  “Willow knew what she was doing then, knew the dangers and ignored them.”  
  
“Not exactly the mark of someone who is mindful of others.”  Giles leaned forward, attempting to help Xander understand.  
  
“She wasn’t thinking straight, that’s all.  Everyone abandoned her, cut her off, and ignored her.”  Xander crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall for balance.  
  
Giles was shaking his head in disagreement.  “Had Willow shown the least bit of regret or remorse for her actions, no doubt given time she would have been forgiven.”  
  
Xander was about to speak, when Tara’s soft voice cut him off.  “She n-never apologized for anything, Xander.  A-and. . .” Stress and fatigue made it harder to control her stutter, though for once, she didn’t duck her head in embarrassment.  “And anytime things went wrong in her opinion, s. . . she used ma. . . magic to fix it.”  
  
Tara had slow tears sliding down her cheeks and Wesley leaned down to grasp her hand in silent support.  “Willow’s changed, Xander, from the girl you used to know and the one  I fell in love with.  She’s done some pretty unforgivable things.”  
  
Xander exploded with anger.  “Unforgivable?!  Spike tried to kill us all and he’s been forgiven!  What’s okay with that?”  
  
Giles sighed, knowing this was a losing battle.  “Spike is a different matter altogether, Xander, and you cannot compare his actions to Willow’s.”  
  
Wesley chuckled humorlessly.  “Spike may not have apologized and he may not ever.  It’s his actions that make amends.  It is one thing to say ‘ _sorry_ ’ and quite another to actually mean it.”  
  
“What the hell makes you think he means it?  He’s only been doing this so he can be close to Buffy and the second she kicks him to the curb or that chip goes wonky, he’s gonna turn on her.”  
  
Anya’s strident voice interrupted his rant, and her tones were no less belligerent than his.  “He _can’t_ turn on her, Xander Harris.  I’ve told you this before, but you didn’t listen then.  Maybe you’ll listen now.”  She stood before him, her hands on her hips, a pursed look on her features.  “You don’t listen to me Xander, and I’m really tired of it.  Spike _cannot_ hurt Buffy.”  
  
“Ahn, you’re wrong.   Spike isn’t a good guy and he’s going to hurt her sooner or later.”  Xander swung around to face her and she took a step back away from him.  
  
“No, Xander, it’s you that’s wrong.  Spike and Buffy are mated.  They _can’t_ hurt each other, even if they wanted to.  If something happened between them and they fought, they would still be bound together.  Don’t you get it?  That bond is unbreakable.  It’s _forever_.”  She was shaking her head, hurt and anger swirling in her eyes.    
  
Xander reached for her, but Anya flinched away, stepping closer to the kitchen.  “How can it be forever?  She’s going to die someday and he’ll be out there, hunting and killing people all over again.  He’s a killer.  There’s nothing else he is.”  
  
“He’s not going to do that.  He won’t.  Spike wouldn’t hurt any of us, not anymore.  And if something happened to Buffy, he’d still have the baby to worry about, even if he survived her death.”  
  
“Baby?  What baby?!”    
  
Anya rolled her eyes.  “Spike and Buffy’s baby.”  
  
“ ** _What!?_** ”  He whirled around, eyes wild and crazed looking from one of them to the other.  “He _can’t_.   She _wouldn’t_.  That’s disgusting.  He’s a demon and that’s. . .”  His voice spluttered off into nothing and his gaze swung from one to the other, hoping for a different answer.  When none was forthcoming, Xander spun around, muttering under his breath.  “Disgusting.  Demon spawn.  How could she?  Why would she?”  
  
Anya stood staring at him, hurt filling her features.  “I was once a demon.  Am I disgusting too?”  
  
He couldn’t answer her, his mouth opening and closing without any sound emerging.  When he stood there for longer than a minute, Anya turned away, saying in a broken voice, “Maybe you should leave, Xander.”  
  
There was nothing, until the sound of the front door slamming shut broke the heavy silence.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Faith struggled against the bonds holding her, bucking her hips wildly, almost growling her resistance.  “Lemme go, you crazy bastard.”  
  
He answered her with a chuckle, his dark eyes twinkling with mirth.  “Not really sure I’m gonna do that.  You’re looking pretty edible right now.”  
  
To punctuate his statement, Jenner nipped playfully at her hipbone, pulling at her flesh, sucking at it until a small purple rose bloomed on her skin.  Faith writhed again, pulling hard on her bonds.  
  
“C’mon, lemme go, please?”  Though her words were pleading, her tone was anything but.  Shrill, strident, and highly aggravated, Faith just oozed anger.  
  
Jenner looked up at her under his heavy brows, shaking his head negatively.  “Nah, don’t really think that’s gonna happen.”  
  
A roped was looped around Faith’s wrists, tying them together and the loose end was tied around the headboard.  Her ankles were secured to the legs of the bed.  Jenner ran a deceptively gentle hand from her wrists to her ankles, tweaking and pinching along the way.    
  
She kept up a litany of curses, her voice low and husky.  Faith lifted her head, dark eyes blazing.  Jenner was biting at her belly, little nipping kisses designed to arouse.  Once more she growled at him.  “I’m so gonna hurt you when I get outta this.”  
  
Jenner merely laughed out loud, almost idly remarking.  “Might take a while.”  
  
“Don’t care.”    
  
He bit her again, this time after he’d changed into game face, sliding his fangs easily into the flesh just to the left of her bare pussy.  
  
“Ow!”  She bucked up, throwing him off her.  “You fucking bastard, what the fuck!”  
  
He let her blood trickle down his chin, not bothering to wipe it away.  “Aw, honey, I thought you’d enjoy this.”  
  
“I’m so gonna hurt you.”  The ropes holding her hands gave a bit, the headboard creaking as Faith struggled to free herself.  
  
He was grinning at her, wiping the blood away with his thumb.  Jenner sucked on it idly before remarking, “I bet you’ll make it hurt so good.”  
  
“Untie me.”  
  
“Don’t think so.  I’m having way too much fun.”  
  
“Yeah, well, it’s not gonna last long, so don’t get all happy on me.”  This time there was a loud creak in the wood.  
  
“We’d have to get a lot dirtier to make me really happy.”  He untied one leg, neatly flipping her over.  
  
Faith shrieked with anger, burying her head into the pillow when Jenner slapped a meaty hand on her ass.  
  
“Now this is fun.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The giant crystal beast heaved its arm-like appendage, knocking Spike cleanly off his feet.  Practically flying backward, landing heavily in the largest pile of shredded crystals, Spike groaned audibly in pain.  
  
Nothing was working, every blow from the sword clanged loudly then slid off, jarring his teeth and making his ears ring.  Even the loose crystals Lawson kept firing at the behemoth did no damage.  They were losing against a brainless, pulseless pile of shiny rocks.  Which was just pissing him off.  
  
The teeth-rattling sound of crystals rubbing against each other sounded in his still veins, triggering a low rumbling growl of annoyance.  
  
 _Enough of this shite.  I’m bloody done playin’ bleedin’ games.  Just need a mo’. . . an’ a way to get this bugger._  
  
Another direct hit on the head had the thing emitting an earthshaking roar, a great gaping maw of crystals splitting open on its head.  Darker crystals winked and flashed, almost like eyes and Spike got a sudden burst of inspiration.  So far, that area was the only vulnerable spot on the beast, and he’d be damned if he didn’t capitalize on it.    
  
With an equally loud roar, Spike sprang to his feet, aiming the sword for the eyelike darker crystals.  The sword penetrated a bit, then ground to a halt, and Spike’s momentum carried him up and over.  As he was flying overhead, he pulled the sword free, then landed lightly on his feet.  The beast roared again, deafening him, but Spike fought on, swinging the sword at the darker crystals.  The maw opened again in rage, and thinking quickly, Spike jabbed his sword inside, jamming it into the opening.    
  
Noise unlike anything he’d ever heard echoed through the air, loud and shrieking, something he felt all the way to his toes.  All of them flinched, the dogs howling their pain and displeasure at the pitch of the sound.  There was a crunching, groaning roll of thunderous sound, seemingly bouncing off the very air, then the creature exploded, scattering crystal dust and grains everywhere.  
  
Heaving, panting for air, Spike wiped away blood, accidentally grinding small crystalline shards into the palm of his hand.  He couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t sense anything either, until Lawson clapped him on the shoulder.  Jumping slightly, Spike turned to face him.  Sam was pointing out something over his shoulder, something that hadn’t been there before he destroyed the crystal beast.  
  
A bridge.  Arcing out over the water, no wider than ten feet and the opposite end shrouded in misty sunlight.  
  
Spike nodded once and wearily headed out, Lawson and the puppies leading the way.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _Is this what I want?  Staying here would be . . .  I wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore.  I was done the first time – after Glory.  I could have that again.  Be finished._  
  
Buffy stared down at her hands, her mind racing with thought.    
  
 _What would I give to be at peace?  
  
Well, that’s the question now, isn’t it?  
  
If I do this, the last couple of months are gone.  
_  
Unconsciously she fiddled with the silver ring circling the base of her middle finger.  
  
 _If I stay . . ._


	71. The pierless bridge

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 71. The pierless bridge  
  
  
There is a land of the living   
and a land of the dead   
and the bridge is love,  
the only survival,   
the only meaning.   
          Thornton Wilder, The Bridge of San Luis Rey  
  
Faith—is the Pierless Bridge  
Supporting what We see  
Unto the Scene that We do not  
           Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems, Faith is the Pierless Bridge   
  
... this single span,  
Reaching for the world, as our lives do,  
As all lives do, reaching that we may give  
The best of what we are and hold as true:  
Always it is by bridges that we live.   
          Phillip Larkin, Bridge for the Living_**  
  
  
  
The bridge, though it pitched upward slightly, was a wide causeway more suited to cart and horse traffic than modern vehicles. Loose limestone and shells crunched beneath their feet as the two vampires strode forward through the low lying mist covering the ground. Though they knew water surrounded them, as they progressed, the mist thickened, obscuring their visibility. Desultory conversation occurred between them, sentences here and there, though nothing of any substance was said. Spike was too wrapped up in his thoughts of what he’d just been through and what other challenges awaited them to engage in idle chatter.  Lawson had no idea what to say, he wasn’t even sure why they were so determined to save Angel’s son.  
  
They’d lapsed into silence long minutes ago, neither one of them willing to share thoughts. Both hounds were keeping pace, plodding alongside, tongues flagging. The mist darkened, growing heavier and the strange bluish sunlight changed, mixing with the mist and a strange amber light. The air became oppressive and humid. Had they needed to breathe, both vampires would have been struggling.  
  
“Maybe we should stop.” Lawson spoke quietly, as if his voice was too small to break through the weight of the air.  
  
“No. Should keep going.” Pausing for a moment, Spike peered into the mist. “Place isn’t safe. Need to get across.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Listen. . . you hear that?”  
  
Low, almost beyond the range of their hearing, voices echoed in the mist, coming at them from all sides. Spike turned around slowly, trying to pinpoint a location. He whirled about, coming face to face with a small slight figure shrouded by the now enclosing mist.  
  
“You should not linger.” The voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, yet commanding all the same. All other noise ceased, the only sound the soft whine of the hounds.  
  
“Had no mind to,” Spike retorted, sarcasm heavy in his voice.  
  
“Rest easy, William, I mean you no harm.” The figure moved, parting the mist, allowing them a glimpse of the person standing before them.  
  
Roughly the same height as Buffy, the figure, like the other woman earlier, wore a cloak obscuring any features from their eyes. The voice and stature, though, indicated clearly their visitor was female.  
  
“This path is hallowed, the way darkened by lost souls.” Again there was movement, which seemed to once more push back the darkness. Softer light glowed through the mist, illuminating the path. “Keep to the center and linger not.” Her arm pointed them toward the glow. “Make haste, I can but hold them a little while.”  
  
Her voice faltered with the strain, growing hoarse and raspy. Spike’s instinctive move toward the figure as it wavered caused her to shy away. “Nay. Time is not your ally in this place. Look not behind, but ahead.”  
  
Grabbing hold of Lawson, Spike followed her outstretched hand, saying, “Let’s go. Thanks, my lady.”  
  
Within feet they were nearly running and by the time Spike dared to look back, everything had been swallowed by blackness.  
  
  
         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Her ass was on fire, throbbing from the force of Jenner’s blows. Faith was on her knees, hands still tied and bound. Curses had spewed from her mouth every time he landed a blow. Hoarse and gravelly sounding, in the last ten minutes her voice had nearly disappeared, and now tears of frustration dripped down her cheeks, further angering her.  Faith’s brain was scrambling, and she was seething with rage, most of it self-directed. Her body was betraying her, Jenner’s touch wringing reactions from her that she didn’t want.  
  
She didn’t want to feel anything for him, told herself it was just another body, just another fuck. Told herself she wouldn’t feel anything.  
  
Nothing beyond lust.  
  
Nothing more than scratching an itch.  
  
 _Stay in control and walk away._  
  
It was what she’d always done. And it worked.  
  
Until _now_.  
  
She was so not in control that Faith had no idea what to do, how to react. Jenner had taken over so easily, so smoothly, almost before she’d even realized he’d done it.  
  
Part of her hated him for it.  
  
But a little part of her was enjoying this.  
  
She hated that even more.  
  
Jenner knelt behind her, smoothing his cool hands over the heated flesh of her poor abused backside. Faith jerked away from his touch. Through clenched teeth, she growled at him. “Don’t touch me. Just don’t fucking touch me.”  
  
He slid his fingers down the reddened cheeks, feeling the welts his fingers had raised. He could smell her arousal, could almost taste it. “C’mon, baby, it’ll feel so good.”  
  
Two of his blunt fingers slid into the depths of her pussy and despite her mind’s rejection, Faith’s body welcomed his intrusion. Yet as much as her body betrayed her, her mind refused to give in. “Don’t, you bastard.”  
  
Jenner leaned over her back, their bodies aligned, his mouth just above her ear. “Faith, just let go.”  
  
“Untie me,” she growled at him, ducking her head so he wouldn’t see her tears. “Just fucking untie me.”  
  
With a sigh, Jenner moved to loosen the rope that secured Faith’s bound wrists to the headboard. At the last second, though, Jenner paused, rethinking the idea of untying her. “Faith . . .”   
  
He waited, he wasn’t sure for what – some response from her, some indication that she wouldn’t turn on him. The why of his hesitation never struck him as odd, not even as he reached for the ropes after long minutes of silence from both of them. Her heart beat was slow and steady, her breathing the same. She refused to speak to him and just now, Jenner was not in the mood to prod her.   
  
It had been a very long time since anyone made him think of their emotions beyond satiation of lust. Jenner knew his prowess between the sheets was more than adequate, never having left any partner dissatisfied. But something about this encounter with Faith was scratching at him, making him wonder if there was anything beyond lust. On her part.  
  
Which unsettled him.   
  
With a last probing look at Faith, he finally reached for the ropes, knowing he was going to regret it a second before she struck.  
  
Faith rolled over faster than he could react, fist balled, and she nailed him right across the jaw. He retaliated, slapping her back, pushing her across the bed. It was a mistake on his part, because she recovered quickly, her foot snapping his jaw and banging his head against the wall hard enough to leave a dent. His last thought before blacking out was about how much he was going to enjoy paying her back.  
  
  
       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
They stared up at the towering cliffs, neither one able to see the top, even with their enhanced sight. Shifting into game face, Spike whistled, then shook his head. “Bloody thing goes on damn near forever.”  
   
Lawson shifted the backpack, eyeing the start of the cliffs, gauging how difficult the climb might actually be. “You know, chief, this isn’t gonna be easy.”  
   
“Like that crystal beastie was easy?” A dark snort of amusement rang from Spike’s mouth and he headed toward the craggy rocks a handful of paces away. “‘S not like we can just skip this part. No way round these bloody rocks. Only way is up and over.”  
   
For the first time since this journey started, Lawson laid a hand on Spike’s arm, halting his progress. “Is it worth it? Why are we rescuing the kid anyway?”   
   
The unspoken part of that question was _‘why are we bothering for Angel’s son?_ ’ and for once, Spike didn’t hesitate. “Because I couldn’t live with her knowing I didn’t do m’best to get the sprog back. Couldn’t face her disappointment. ‘S not that the Slayer wants Angel’s brat, know the truth of that, first hand, but. . .” He paused, unable to put it into words himself that Lawson might understand. Without thinking too heavily on it, Spike continued, almost as if he were talking to himself. “He’s an innocent; boy has no fault in any of this. He’s a fucking baby, an’ to blame him for what his old man is responsible for isn’t right. An’ . . . he’s family. He’s blood kin to both of us.”  
   
He looked to the younger vampire, wondering if what he’d said made any sense. When Lawson stared at him for a long moment, Spike figured he’d missed his mark, until Sam spoke.   
   
“How could a baby be responsible? He’s only. . . but you’re right, he’s family.” Almost to himself, Lawson said, “It’s not like I have a whole lot of that running around, willing to have me.”  
   
Without saying anything else, the two headed for the cliff face, following the steep path the hounds were on.  
   
  
         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
   
The house was quiet. No sounds emerged in the immediate aftermath of Xander’s angry retreat. Giles, for once, was at a complete loss as to what, if anything, he should say. Wesley was no better. Neither man had any real inkling that those were the thoughts swirling about in Xander’s head; neither really paying enough attention to the younger man’s apparent distractions. Dawn shifted uncomfortably on the couch, drawing Wesley’s attention. She waved him off though, grimacing at the pain every movement caused. Tara stared at the closed door, a sad look on her face. She could feel the sorrow emanating off the girl standing next to her, and although she was wary of approaching her, she knew Anya needed the support of friends at this moment. It was hard realizing someone you loved didn’t really truly return those feelings unconditionally.  
   
“Anya?” She half-turned to face the former demon, bracing herself for the tears she thought would be there. Instead, she caught a grim and angry look on her face.  
   
“He should be really thankful I’m not a demon anymore.” Anya huffed a bit, wringing the kitchen towel in her hands. “I’m very angry.”  
   
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” Giles limped over to touch her shoulder and Anya looked at him, her features softening a bit. “Are you all right, my dear?”  
   
“Aside from wanting to eviscerate him, or you know, infect him with sexually transmitted diseases, I’m . . .” Her bravery crumpled in the face of the concern she saw etched on all the faces looking at her. “Oh . . .” And she burst into tears.  
   
Rupert gathered her into his arms, his voice murmuring soft assurances to her that all would eventually be well, while he guided her to sit in the chair he’d just vacated. “Sit down, dear. We’ll make you some tea.”  
   
A watery half-sob, half-giggle broke from her and Anya turned teary eyes up at him. “Is that the English cure-all I don’t know about?”  
   
Wesley chuckled, remarking idly as he headed for the kitchen, “Of course it is. We’ve nothing else to offer other than tea and sympathy.”  
   
Giles shook his head, handing Anya his handkerchief, sitting on the chair beside her. “It really is all we have to offer.”  
   
Even Tara had to laugh, though for her it was more of a relief. She looked around at them, Dawn fighting to stay conscious on the couch, Giles and Anya softly speaking, and Wesley coming in from the kitchen asking if anyone wanted anything else, and she realized in that moment what they had between them was far healthier and better than it had been before Buffy died. They were more of a family than the one she’d been born into, and despite the cracks and dissension of late, this was exactly where she belonged.  
   
Exhaustion stole through her, making her eyes droop and a yawn escape her. Giving into her fatigue, Tara sleepily said, “As much as I’d like to stay up and wait, I need to lie down.” Leaning over Dawn, she felt her forehead for signs of a fever, asking, “Dawnie, do you want to go upstairs or are you okay here?”  
   
“I’m okay here. I don’t think I could make it upstairs.” The blue-eyed teen shook her head, settling back into the cushions.   
   
“All right. I’m going to go lie down. Goodnight, everyone.”  
   
A chorus of ‘goodnights’ and ‘sleep wells’ sounded in the air, and Tara slipped down the stairs to the basement.  
   
  
         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
   
Following the hounds proved to be the wisest course of action, considering they were on precarious ground. The shale of the cliff face kept them from gaining steady footing, though it proved useful in digging out handholds. They kept to a single file, Lawson behind and a bit below Spike, and though they had thought of it, they had nothing to use as a tether rope. It was free climbing, while the dogs leaped from one overhang to the next.   
   
The first sign of trouble came in the form of a high-pitched keening wail that owed more to an eagle’s cry than anything remotely humanoid as they neared the middle of the cliff. Loose rocks rained down on them from above, and though he craned his neck to see, Spike couldn’t get a glimpse of what might be causing either. Looking down toward Lawson, he shouted a question and all he got in return was a negative shake of his head. Too involved in the climb to risk a full blown conversation, Spike turned his face to the rocks and resumed his upward motion.  
   
As he climbed another ten feet, the cawing, keening noise increased, echoing off the rocks and deafening him. Spike ducked his head, covering both ears.  Chancing a glimpse over his shoulder at Lawson, Spike could see him doing the same.  He waited, unmoving, until the noise abated and he could hear his own thoughts again. His head was beginning to pound with the after-effects of aural overload, and Spike could feel his equilibrium starting to give way. There were very few ways to completely incapacitate a vampire, and affecting the hearing was the most effective. Spike shook his head, inhaling deeply, trying to get his balance back.    
  
Giving it another few minutes, Spike calmed himself with thoughts of Buffy and eventually, his breathing stopped racing. With another look down at Lawson, he restarted the climb.  
   
Twenty, thirty additional feet he ascended, his muscles beginning to strain with the effort of hauling and stretching. They were now nearly two-thirds of the way up the cliff, though neither of them realized it. Below them, the bridge between islands had nearly disappeared in the growing mist and above them, the clouds were beginning to darken, closing in on the cliff face. Grateful for his ability to stop breathing as the air thinned, Spike shut down his lungs and hauled himself up another four feet.   
   
There was no warning, no keening cry from above, no shifting of the shale. Nothing. Just the cessation of all sound, like a vacuum whooshing next to his ear. Strong claws raked the rock next to him as he ducked and flattened himself against the cliff. Heavy wings blocked the light, and Spike blindly fought off whatever it was that just attacked him. Using his own claws, he dug his fingers into the strong talon holding onto him, wrenching it away. He lost his balance, teetering on the outcropping his feet were planted on, his upper body swaying in the breeze. Spike over balanced, smashing his face into the rocks, but he didn’t care that he’d gotten a mouthful of gravel. Spitting it out, he panted, resting his whole body against the cliff. Adrenaline surged through him and he didn’t realize he was in game face until Lawson’s hand reached out to grasp his shoulder.  
   
“You okay?”  
   
“Wha’ the bleedin’ fuck was that?” Blood coursed down his face, and his right hand ached from where the beast had gripped him.  
   
“No clue. All I saw was a tail and some wings. Didn’t get a close look at it.” Sam wiped away some of the rock from Spike’s shoulders, checking him for more injuries. “Can you climb?”  
   
“Think so. Gimme a minute, ‘s all.” Closing his eyes, Spike leaned heavily against the rock face, mentally checking for more injuries. At the moment, all he could feel was the throbbing pain in his arm, and the sting of various small cuts on his face. He wasn’t all that worried about his face, it was the damage to his arm that was giving him pause. “How far to the next cave?”  
   
Lawson leaned around him, checking both sides for any indentation or anomaly in the cliff, hoping to find a small enough enclosure to hide them both. “Not sure. I’m gonna have to look.”  
   
He took off, moving slowly upwards, wary of attracting the attention of whatever beast had just attacked Spike. About ten yards over Spike’s head, Lawson found a big enough cave for the two of them to hole up in, at least until Spike recovered somewhat. The entire climb had been wrought with tension, especially considering about thirty feet up, the keening noise had restarted. Part of him was grateful for that, because the noise seemed to indicate a warning, not signaling an immediate attack. Lawson cleared out the cave, moving some of the bigger rocks to the side, so that Spike would be able to lie down once they got up there. He also left his backpack, figuring he’d have to take Spike’s and help him and the last thing he needed was the excess baggage.  
   
Knowing time was important, Sam headed back down the cliff, his ears tuned to the sky. To his surprise, neither keening cry nor beating wing marked his downward progress, and Lawson guessed it was the upward movement that had the beast concerned. His supposition was played out correctly when, within seconds of reaching Spike and their shift upward, the noise started again.  
   
“How far do we have to go?” The question was the first Spike had spoken since Sam had reached him, and it was very clear the other vampire was in pain and flagging. Lawson stayed on his right side, helping him climb and debated whether or not to tell him how much further they had to go before they hit shelter.  
   
Deciding the lie wouldn’t do either of them any good, Lawson said, “Ten yards straight up. Lots of good handholds though, so we should be okay.”  
   
A snort of amused pain emerged from Spike’s mouth. “So long as that winged beast stays away, we should be fine.”  
   
“Should be.”  
   
Conversation ceased again, and the climb, which had taken Lawson only about twenty minutes, dragged on for nearly an hour. Spike had to stop every few feet, and every time the cawing noise stopped, they paused, waiting for the beast to attack. Thankfully, though, it didn’t.   
   
Less than five feet from the cave, rocks rained down from above, nearly knocking them both from the cliff. One particularly large one caught Lawson on the right shoulder, numbing him down to his fingertips. They clung there, hanging on by the tips of their fingers, until the feeling came back in Sam’s arm. By this time, Spike was panting heavily, and the bleeding in his arm hadn’t stopped, so his normally pale features were taking on a grey cast. “Almost there, Spike.”  
   
“Okay.” The older vampire didn’t waste his time or strength on speaking, conserving what little energy he had for the rest of the climb. He couldn’t spare it.   
   
As one, they moved up, and before Spike could get his feet under him, the whooshing sound was back and claws raked down his back, opening it from shoulder to waist. He screamed in agony, losing his grip completely and falling away from the cliff. His fingers scrabbled in the loose shale, ripping off nails and splitting the skin, though he somehow managed to stop his fall.   
   
In the next seconds, Lawson was beside him, shielding his body from further attack. Reaching into the backpack, he withdrew two daggers, gripping one in his teeth. Working quickly and carefully, Lawson shredded his own shirt, tying Spike’s smaller body to his, laying the now unconscious vampire along his back. He couldn’t think of any easier way to get him up the last thirty feet, and uncaring of the danger, Lawson scrambled for the cave as quickly as possible.  
   
   
          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
   
Oz was sound asleep, sacked out on the right side of her bed, facing the wall. He was curled up, almost in a fetal position, his hands tucked under his arms. Past experience told her he would be out for at least a couple more hours, the stress of calling up the change more than his body could handle. He’d learned to control the wolf, disciplining his mind and body to control without being submissive to the demon, but that kind of control always came with a price. Whenever Oz called forth the wolf, his body paid for it.  
   
A minimum of eight hours of almost comatose sleep was necessary for his recovery, provided he’d suffered no injuries. Tara stared down at his body, a tired smile lighting her features. With a small shake of her head, she decided he wasn’t moving any time soon, so she was safe. Stripping out of her soiled clothes, Tara dropped the dirty clothes in the pile Oz had left earlier. Donning her favorite nightgown Tara slid into the bed, her back to his.  
   
Before she could think twice about sleeping with Oz, Tara was already there.  
   
   
       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Spike was mercifully out cold when Lawson crawled on hands and knees into the depths of the cave. He stayed that way, unnecessarily gasping for air, head hanging down between his shoulders. Sam sliced through the remains of his tee shirt, sliding Spike off his back and face down onto the dirt floor of the cave.  
   
For the first time, Sam got a good glimpse of the damage to Spike’s back. Three deep furrows ran from his shoulder parallel to his spine down the length of his back, ending only at the waistband of his jeans. He’d stopped bleeding, which was good, but Spike was still going to need tending, something Sam wasn’t sure he could do. Given the extent of the injury, Sam was afraid they were going to be stuck for at least a day, if not longer.  
   
Sam honestly didn’t know how to help Spike. He knew very little about first-aid, at least the kind Spike needed.  
   
Going through the packs revealed not much of assistance. Extra clothes, tee-shirts, baby things for Connor, four thermoses of blood and nothing else. The blood would help, though looking at the shredded remains of Spike’s back, Sam was beginning to think it wouldn’t nearly be enough.  
   
There was nothing to start a fire with, no wood, or rags or leaves. Spreading out the clothing on the ground, Lawson moved Spike, hoping this would help get him warm.  
   
Trying to remember the training he’d gotten when he enlisted, Sam was able to recall only the advice his commanding officer had imparted. “ _When you don’t know what to do, always do the next logical thing._ ”  
   
So Sam set to work.  
   
Hours later, after feeding Spike the contents of three of the thermoses and some blood from himself, Sam slumped tiredly against the rock wall.  Barely able to keep his eyes open, Sam fought the fatigue.  He didn’t even realize he’d fallen asleep until he heard voices whispering softly. He shifted, forcing his eyes open, then he slid back into oblivion.  
   
He knew he was dreaming, because he was warm and comfortable. Sam rolled over onto his side, pulling the covering up over his shoulders. Soft crackling noises teased at his ears and the scent of warm wool had him bolting up right, wide awake.  
   
A low fire glowed in the darkness, blinding him. Sam covered his eyes, looking away. Spike was resting quietly, his eyes open and trained on Sam. His body was covered by a blanket, and on the other side, away from the fire was a small red-haired woman, who was tending to Spike’s back.   
   
“Rest easy.” Her voice was soft and melodic, with an accent he couldn’t place, but she was definitely not an American, which Sam couldn’t even figure out why he’d thought of it in the first place.  
   
“Who are you?”  
   
“My name is Rianwyn.” She ran a hand over the bandages over Spike’s back, checking the bleeding. “I’ve come to give what aid I can.”  
   
“Why?”  
   
She was silent for a long minute, then lifted her eyes to stare at him. “Because it needs doing.”


	72. No oceans between us

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 72.  No oceans between us  
  
Valor is common   
but great souls are rare.   
    Bernard Joseph Saurin, Spartacus, act 3, sc. 1  
  
Though seas and land be ‘twixt us both,  
Our faith and troth,  
Like separated souls,  
All time and space controls:  
Above the highest sphere we meet  
Unseen, unknown, and greet as angels greet.   
    Richard Lovelace, To Lucasta, Going beyond the Seas   
  
Two souls in one,   
two hearts into one heart.  
    Guillaume de Salluste Du Bartas, First Week, Sixth Day.  
  
There are two births: the one when light  
First strikes the new awakened sense;  
The other when two souls unite,  
And we must count our life from thence,  
When you loved me and I loved you,  
Then both of us were born anew.   
    William Cartwright,  To Chloe, Who Wished Herself Young Enough for Me   
  
  
_**  
“He is out there, searching for the boy.”    
  
Buffy turned at the sound of the voice beside her to find Arianrhod doing as she’d just been, staring out into the hazy mist covering the water lapping at the shore.  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand what the Goddess was telling her.  Her meaning was very clear.  Spike was out there somewhere, struggling to get Connor back.  Her heart thumped wildly in her chest for a moment, until Buffy inhaled deeply.  
  
“Is he okay?”  
  
A slight frown marred the otherwise flawless features of the red-headed woman, though she quickly schooled her expression.  “He will be.”  
  
Buffy turned to face her, sudden furious, ferocious anger for her mate stiffening her spine.  “ _Will_ be?  That’s _so_ not good enough.”  
  
The taller woman met her look, unfazed by the Slayer’s anger.  “For now, it has to be.”  
  
Drawing herself up to her full height, which barely reached the other woman’s waist, Buffy balled her hands into fists.  “Not just _now_.  He has to be okay.  I need him to be okay.”  Fear for him fed her anger, and she took a step closer, not caring that the other woman could stop her with a thought.  “You don’t understand.  I _need_ him.”  
  
Kindness flared in her eyes for a brief moment, and Arianrhod laid a hand on Buffy’s tensing forearm.  “I do understand, far better than you believe.  He needs must do what he must.”  Arianrhod looked out over the water, her gaze unfocused.  “There are trials he must face in order to retrieve the child stolen from you, and much danger lies on the paths he must walk.”  
  
“Trials?  Who said anything about trials?  What does he have to do?”  Buffy cringed at the whine in her voice, but she couldn’t help herself.  She had to know if he was going to be safe, that he was all right.  “Can you at least tell me what’s happened?”  
  
Drawing in a deep breath, Arianrhod closed her eyes, her whole body stilling on the indrawn breath.  Time ceased for that moment, nothing moved at all, save Buffy’s heartbeat.  Without opening her eyes, the Goddess spoke.  “Destroyed the crystal beast sent to scorch their skin, suffered the way of lost souls.  They have survived one trial and one despair.  Their fate hangs in the balance.”  
  
“Wait. . .   they?”  Refusing to even think about the last thing she’d said, Buffy concentrated on the fact that she kept referring to Spike in the plural.    
  
Arianrhod still hadn’t opened her eyes or looked toward Buffy.  “Company he has, another like him.  Kin.”    
  
 _Lawson?  Okay, that’s good._   With more fear than anger in her tone, Buffy asked her one last question.  “Will he be okay?”  
  
“Child, can you not feel him yourself?”  
  
Wiping away the tears she hadn’t realized she’d been shedding until this second, Buffy sniffled and shook her head.  “I tried . . .  I can’t really, only faintly.  I know he’s still there, but, I can’t read him the way I could before.”  
  
Taking pity on the girl, Arianrhod finally opened her eyes.  Pressing her opened palm onto the spot just over her heart, she breathed onto her forehead.  “Try now.”  
  
Closing her own eyes, Buffy concentrated on feeling Spike, seeking out the threads binding them together.  Her heart thumped loudly in her own ears, her breathing overwhelming the external noises and suddenly, like a flash of lightning in her belly, she could smell him, the musk of his skin close against hers, his arms around her, his nose nuzzling into her hair.  _Oh, Spike. . . I miss you so much!_  
  
The scent changed, the weight of him increasing, feeding her panic, until she remembered the last time she’d felt this; when he’d been injured after the Knights had attacked.  “He’s hurt.”  
  
She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until Arianrhod’s response.  
  
“He is.”  
  
“I _need_ to go.  I have to make sure he’s okay.  I have to take care of him.”  Buffy pleaded with the Goddess, her hands wringing and tears once more clogging her vision.  
  
She sighed again, shaking her head in denial.  “Nay.  He needs must do this.”  At the smaller woman’s crestfallen expression, she relented somewhat.  “I will send someone to ease his path.  Will that appease you for now?”  
  
“Yes, that’s fine.  _Please,_ just make sure he’s okay.”  
  
“Consider it done.”  
  
And with that, the Goddess disappeared, leaving Buffy once more alone, staring out at the mist covered water.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Were you not told time was not your ally in this place?”  The words were a bit confrontational, though the tone was still gentle.  
  
Sam wiped his eyes, remarking, “Yeah, we were, but I don’t think anyone planned on this happening.”  Without waiting for her to reply, he asked, “What the hell was that thing, anyway?”  
  
“Cythraul Wybren.  They nest in the heights of Caer Eryri.  ‘Twould be safer to find a way through the mountain than over.”  From somewhere behind her, she produced an earthenware jug.  Offering it to Sam, she continued, “The hounds have discovered a trail.  You would be wise to follow it.”  
  
“I’m not sure we can.”  He stared at the offering then reluctantly took it from her outstretched hand.  “Water doesn’t help.”  
  
“Who said it was water?”  She smiled at him, the expression transforming her face.  “I am not your enemy.  William needs assistance and I offered to come.”  
  
“An’ jus’ how did you get here?”  His voice was strained and hoarse, but Spike was finally awake and aware of his surroundings.  
  
“The same way the others have.”  Rianwyn leaned down to peer intently at him.  “Can you sit?”  
  
With a deep groan, Spike half rolled to a sitting position.  He was panting for breath, leaning heavily on his hands, keeping his back away from the rock wall behind him.  
  
Rianwyn held a smaller jar to his lips.  “Here.”    
  
Catching a whiff of the sweet smelling elixir, Spike jerked back in surprise.  “Tha’s Slayer blood.”  
  
“Not quite, though it is as powerful.”  At Spike’s disquiet look, she sighed.  “William, are you always this stubborn?  ‘Tis freely given.”  
  
He croaked out, “Why?” before sipping at the jug.  
  
“Why?  Better you should ask why not?”  Another sigh broke from her lips and a slight flare of amusement shone in her eyes.  “Have you not been told you are uncommon?  Why must you hear it again?”  
  
Sam watched them, listening to their exchange and couldn’t stop his own questions from spilling forth.  “What exactly does that mean?  Three times we’ve gotten unexpected help from women who haven’t bothered to really explain why.”  
  
Rianwyn shifted her gaze to Lawson, an amused smile playing about her lips.  “Art always this bold, vampire?”  
  
Her suddenly formal speech alerted Sam to the fact he might have just overstepped his bounds.  Before he could backtrack and apologize, she waved a hand, dismissing his words.  “I suppose it is for me to explain.  I needs must see to William, firstly.”  
  
Satisfied that he’d consumed the contents of the jug, Rianwyn spoke softly in a language Lawson didn’t recognize and the fire flared green and yellow.  When the flames died down, Spike was residing on a low cot, propped up on his side, mounds of soft furs piled beneath him.  
  
“We have come, in part, to right a grievous wrong done William and the Slayer.”  Rianwyn got to her feet, moving away from Spike’s side.  “One of our own allowed the witch access to powers she could not control.”  
  
The cave was silent, only the crackle of flames interrupting the quiet.  Rianwyn’s voiced sounded again, this time stronger and with more anger.  “Because of this, events were set in motion that should not have been.”  
  
“So that means Buffy wasn’t supposed to come back.”  Spike found he could hardly choke out the words.  
  
“The advent of Glorificus was not predicted for many years.”  Her sigh nearly rattled the loosely piled rocks surrounding them.  “Impetuous and impatient, Glorificus slowly lost her sanity.  Being trapped inside a human form only increased the madness.  Had she waited for a more auspicious time, the outcome might have differed.”  With a shake of her head, Rianwyn continued, “‘Tis neither here nor there.  What’s done is done.”  
  
“Easy enough for you to say.  You’re not the one all battered an’ bruised, not knowing where your heart is,”  Spike snapped at her, his tone peevish.  
  
“Fair enough.  Though I have been in your place.”  Rianwyn moved again, the hem of her skirts skimming over the ground.  Her steps brought her closer to him, and she knelt down so she could look into his eyes.  His pain was clearly etched in the planes and shadows of his features and her expression softened as her own eyes scanned his face.  Rianwyn placed her hand over his heart, and smiling to let him know she meant no harm, she breathed out softly onto his forehead.  Immediately, Spike felt the itch start to ease a bit.  Unconsciously he inhaled her scent and a wave of something so familiar came over him that he blinked away tears.  _She smells like Buffy . . ._ His heart clenched, wishing she were there beside him instead of this woman.  _Oh, kitten, where are you?  Are you safe?_  
  
He blinked and Rianwyn had moved away, but the scent of Buffy still remained, only now it teased at his nose, and he surreptitiously glanced around, half expecting her to step out of the shadows beyond the firelight.  Her presence teased at the edges of his awareness, something he hadn’t felt before in this place and he got the feeling it was all due to the other woman’s touch.  Following his intuition, Spike closed his eyes and concentrated heavily on Buffy, seeking out the bond they shared.  A smile played about his lips and the pain eased the instant he felt her there.  Brief flashes of strong emotions came hurtling at him and all he could do was send his own assurances back.  Just knowing she was there, still inside him, offered more comfort than he'd ever expected  
  
“Is’at why you came?”   
  
A soft, ironic laugh echoed back from the cave walls and Rianwyn busied herself with the jug.  “Deirdre wanted to come, but allowed herself to be convinced otherwise.”  
  
Sam stared at her while she mixed some herbs she seemingly plucked from thin air, dropping them one by one into the bigger of the two jugs.  He hadn’t realized he’d spoken until the weight of Rianwyn’s gaze fell on him.  
  
“Deirdre of the Sorrows.”  At his blank look she clucked her tongue.  “For shame.  With your face and your name, one would think you would be better versed in the tales of your kin.”  
  
“What?  What’s that mean?”  
  
Rianwyn shook her head, exasperation writ clearly on her features.  “It means, vampire, that you are sadly lacking knowledge of those who came before you.”  
  
Spike chuckled, settling back against the furs.  
  
“Who are you?  And why are _you_ helping?”  Sam’s voice rose and he belatedly realized he sounded no better than a petulant child.  
  
“I told you who I am.”  She handed the jug to Spike, urging him to drink.  
  
“Actually, all you did was give us a name.”  
  
With a soft sigh, she relented somewhat.  “I am Rianwyn, eldest child of Morgause and Pwyll.  And I am the last of my line, the last to be called the Lady of Avallach.”  
  
The names and titles meant nothing to Sam and he gazed back at her, confused curiosity in his eyes.  Spike, however, had recognized the names, and though the title wasn’t the same, he had a feeling she wouldn’t object to the better known epitaph.  When Lawson’s focus shifted to him, Spike partially filled in the blanks in a round-about way.  
  
“Thought that was Morgan le Fay.”  
  
She snapped at him, remarking tersely, “Ever has she sought that which was mine.”  Rianwyn turned away, not allowing either of them to see her face.  “I help because I must.  Because, like William, I gambled all that I had – all that I was – for my love.  Because I loved . . .  not so wisely, yet ever so deeply.”  
  
Her voice was a mere whisper by the end and neither of her listeners mentioned the salty tears slipping down her cheeks.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She thought about it.  
  
Thought about kicking apart the wooden slats of the headboard and staking him.  
  
Thought about it while she searched the room for her clothes; while she angrily got dressed and while she was returning the favor of tying him to the bed.  
  
Just as she was securing his left hand to the bed, Jenner began stirring.  Moving faster, Faith finished as his eyes opened to see her straddling his hips.  A broken chair leg clutched in her fist hovered over the spot where his unbeating heart lay.  
  
Neither one of them spoke.  Two sets of eyes – one dark brown, one flinty blue -- never wavered.  The Aurelian master and the Slayer.    
  
He wasn’t going to beg for his life.  
  
He understood why Faith had turned the tables.   Could see the anger masked something no amount of bravado could ever hide.  
  
She’d been afraid.  Afraid that at any second he would strike, driving his fangs deep into her bared, vulnerable flesh and ending her life.  And because he had seen that fear lurking in her eyes, Jenner stayed still and silent.  
  
Faith couldn’t stop trembling.  
  
Her hand wavered, her fist flexing and tensing over the still body beneath her.  Angry tears filmed over her vision, though she made no move to wipe them away.  She refused to even acknowledge that she was crying.  She closed her fist around the makeshift stake, inhaling deeply as her hand closed the distance.  
  
Both fists pounded against his still chest, her breathing harsh and rasping.  Deep, aching sobs wrenched from her chest and with a last frightened look, Faith fled, leaving him behind.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Contrary to what her dark prince had once believed about her, Drusilla was more than capable of taking care of herself.  She just didn’t like to.  It was far easier to let William do it.  The second her baby brother – the nasty sailor boy – turned his back, she’d disappeared, leaving what was left of her family behind.  
  
 _Daddy’s gone. . ._  
  
 _ **Daddy’s gone**. . . _  
  
Sobs, visceral, guttural, and deep, wracked her thin frame.  Drusilla doubled over, her fingers scrabbling through her hair, pulling at it.  
  
“Noooo, no, no, no. . .” Keening wildly, she collapsed in a heap, her latest victim’s blood bathing the walls of the rest stop bathroom.  
  
The cries echoed against the stark white tile, illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights.  Sticky blood dripped from every surface, slowly plopping onto her pale features, smeared across her cheeks and seeping across the floor.    
  
Her wails escalated until there was nothing but the sound of her grief.    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _  
I need him._  
  
Her words to Arianrhod echoing in her head, Buffy didn’t fight the epiphany surging through her.  _I need him._  
  
Buffy had never willingly admitted to herself, much less anyone else that she needed someone.  Until just recently.    
  
It started during the fight with Glory, when Spike had willingly stood shoulder to shoulder with her and she’d told him – and the rest –  how much she needed his assistance.  But it hadn’t ended there.  Since her return, Buffy had begun relying on Spike more and more, until now she couldn’t imagine being without him.  
  
 _I need him.  
  
Oh, God.  I need him._  
  
A tremulous smile broke over her face and the tears she’d stopped with Arianrhod’s assurance started anew.  Her hand drifted down over her belly and Buffy’s smile softened.    
  
 _ **We** need him. . . _  
  
Some weight that had been on her soul for a long time eased with the admittance.  Her burden wasn’t only her own, not as long as Spike was with her.  He was always there, helping, doing whatever he could to help.  It wasn’t like Angel.  Looking back on his first appearance into her life, Angel had never put himself out there with her, had never once fought beside her when no one else was looking.  And the others, as much as they tried to help, half the time she was rescuing them or urging them to leave the heavy stuff to her.  With Spike, none of that worried her.  Sure, he’d needed rescuing from Glory, but otherwise?  Spike was as indestructible as she was, blessed with the ability to survive almost anything.    
  
Thinking of that eased another ache binding her heart.  Short of dusting, there wasn’t anything Spike couldn’t withstand.  Playing with the ring he’d given her, Buffy’s thoughts focused on him, on feeling the connection between them.  This bond they shared was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.  Beyond love, beyond caring, it encompassed everything she was, everything they were, forging something new.  They weren’t just Buffy and Spike – vampire and slayer, man and woman – they were two become one.  Their essences had merged until sometimes she couldn’t imagine being without him.  
  
 _I need him . . ._  
  
Resolution flooded through her and Buffy realized she’d made her decision.  
  
  
  
  
                                    


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is a loose paraphrase, I came up with that sort of owes itself to a line in the movie Dracula (1992 Coppola version) “I have crossed oceans of time for you.”


	73. Justice turns the scale

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 73.  Justice turns the scale  
  
  
Goodness shall be repaid with goodness,   
and evil repaid with evil;   
never fear;   
the day of reckoning will come soon.   
    Chinese proverb.  
  
Truth is truth  
To the end of reckoning.   
    Measure for Measure. Act v. Sc. 1.  
  
Justice turns the scale,   
bringing to some learning through suffering.   
    Aeschylus, Agamemnon, l. 250.  
  
Good deal: justice for you, mercy for me.   
    Mason Cooley, City Aphorisms, Sixth Selection, New York   
  
The anvil of justice is planted firm,   
and fate who makes the sword does the forging in advance.   
     Aeschylus, The Libation Bearers, l. 646  
  
Blot out vain pomp;   
check impulse;   
quench appetite;   
keep reason under its own control.   
    Marcus Aurelius, Meditations. ix. 7.  
  
He who loses control, loses.  
    Det. Frank Pembleton, Homicide: Life on the Street,1993  
_**  
  
  
  
Just that brush of her against his senses was enough of a goad to get him motivated.  Spike stretched, flexing his sore muscles, testing the healing.  His back muscles pulled, pain rolling through him in waves.  If he had sweat, it would be standing out on his upper lip and his temples.  He stifled a groan, pushing past the pain.  Cold fire lanced through him and his vision blurred.  
  
“Got any more of that?”  He barely managed to growl out the request.  Spike hated asking for more, but sitting around wasn’t going to get Connor back.  Sooner he did that, sooner he could get home.  
  
And he wanted that.  Wanted to get home more than he wanted to breathe.  
  
Home.  
  
To Buffy.  
  
Light flared from the fire and he shifted, trying again to move.  Almost as if she sensed his continued pain, Rianwyn got up from her seat, intent on seeing to him.  She was two steps away when she stopped and changed direction.  Spike watched her with a curious air, only relaxing when she approached him with the earthenware jug and a handful of herbs.  
  
“Here, drink this.”  
  
“The good stuff, yeah?”  
  
His answer was a small enigmatic smile and a shake of her head.  When she started to move away, Spike reached out to grab her wrist.  “Tell me, pet, was your sacrifice worth it?  Did he love you back?”  
  
Rianwyn stared down at his hand, visibly debating whether she wanted to answer his questions.  Finally, after a few tense moments, she sighed, deflating a bit.  “He did.”  She paused, looking into his blue eyes steadily.  “Is your sacrifice worth it?”  
  
It was his turn to look away.  Spike’s jaw flexed and he ground out, “Not really a sacrifice, pet.”  
  
“And there is your answer.”  
  
      
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Once Anya’s tears had faded away after the third cup of calming tea, Wesley slumped down on the floor in front of a still sleeping Dawn.  Giles and Anya were conversing in soft tones and Wesley kept up the pretense as long as he could, adding commentary until he could no longer keep his eyes open.  
  
His head dropped down, chin hitting his chest and a soft snore alerted the other two of his state of consciousness.  A wry grin crossed Giles’ face while Anya emitted a soft, watery giggle.  Wesley looked very uncomfortable and Anya pulled the small blanket from the back of the chair, swirling it over his still form.  
  
He muttered something unintelligible, which only increased her giggles.  Anya slumped back into the chair beside Giles and surprised him completely with her next words.  “We should go to bed.”  
  
Giles’ jaw dropped, unable to wrap his head around her casual announcement.  He peered at her through his glasses, then at her continued mutterings about the time and how much better they would feel if they got some sleep, he pulled them off, still unable to form words.  
  
“Yes, I – I think that’s best.”  
  
His hesitation was long enough for her to notice and Anya cocked her head to the side, her expression unreadable.  “Really, Rupert, the first time we have sex won’t be when you’re exhausted and injured.  I want both of us to enjoy the experience.”  
  
He continued to gape at her, unable to formulate one single coherent thought.  She was staring back at him, a mischievous smile playing about her lips.  
  
“Anya . . .”  
  
She merely raised an eyebrow, her smile widening.  “We have excellent chemistry and I do believe we are much more compatible than Xander and I were.  Don’t you agree?”  
  
When he still didn’t answer, Anya got to her feet, hands outstretched toward him.  “C’mon, Rupert.  Let’s get some sleep.”  
  
Giles was still trying to digest her comments as they climbed onto the air mattress in Joyce’s old bedroom.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The cavernous hall was empty, devoid of any occupants except her.  Buffy’s footsteps rang hollowly on the marble, echoing very loudly.  She could feel the otherwordly presences all around her, shifting and flowing closer as she neared Gwyn’s raised seat.  Her heart was a slow, steady thump, though the churning, roiling mass of her belly kept rising up to her throat.  She’d made her decision – where she wanted to be and with whom – but there was still the question of Willow.  
  
Not since that look into the giant cauldron had her name been mentioned.  No word of a possible fate or payment or anything had been uttered.  Buffy was beginning to realize that she was being judged almost as closely as the other girl.  
  
Shying away from thoughts of why it was for her to decide . . . _Oh, I get it.  They wanted me to decide I wanted to live.  I get it now.  
  
And I do.  I really wanna live.  I wanna see everything – Dawnie, Giles, Tara. . . I want to make sure everyone’s okay.  I wanna live.  I wanna stay with Spike.  Coz heaven isn’t gonna really be heaven without him.  So . . . I’ll wait.  
_  
A tenuous smile crossed her features just as Buffy drew even with the alcove containing Ceridwen’s cauldron.  The mist rose upwards, coiling just beneath the ceiling, forming murky images.  As she watched, Buffy caught glimpses of figures battling and found herself drawn to the alcove without realizing it.  The more she stared at the images, the more certain she became that she was watching someone fighting against bigger, stronger, and more talented opponents.  Yet even as she watched, the slight figure grew, both taller and stronger, and instead of losing every fight, the figure started winning, defeating its opponents.    
  
The mist didn’t allow for a close identification, and Buffy moved closer, trying to figure out who the figure was, though nothing seemed to be familiar.  The moves looked like Spike’s, but the body was all wrong and the face too young to be anyone else she might recognize.  Suddenly aware of another person standing behind her, Buffy whispered a question, afraid to disturb the misty visions.  “Who is that?  And what’s happening?”  
  
“These are visions of what is.  And you should recognize what appears before your eyes.”  Ceridwen’s voice was equally soft, her tone caring.  
  
Buffy continued to watch, her eyes never leaving the mist.  “He’s training, learning how to fight.”  
  
There was no question in her tone, only certainty, and she merely looked sideways when Ceridwen stepped beside her.  “Aye, even so, he is gifted, that one, with speed and strength belying his slight stature and tender years.”    
  
Buffy murmured something approving as the boy ducked gracefully beneath another figure, skewering a second opponent easily.  “He learns every time the fight changes. He’s going to be really good.”  
  
“That he will be.”  Ceridwen inclined her head, and Buffy caught a smile forming itself on her lips.  “Destined to be a champion, despite his bloodlines.”  
  
“I’d love to have someone like him on my side.”    
  
Soft, tinkling laughter filled the alcove and Ceridwen touched Buffy’s shoulder.  “Have a care what you wish for, cariad.”  Looking down into the Slayer’s upturned face, she smiled.  “Come.  It is time.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
She accompanied them to the tunnel the hounds had discovered, leading the way with a ball of light she’d conjured out of thin air and a few whispered words.  Spike kept his eyes on the back of her head, wondering at how familiar she seemed to him and knowing it was not just because of the few hours they’d spent together.  Her generosity had extended past the gift of power-packed blood and surcease for a short period; their packs were laden with supplies, both additional food and clothing filling them.  
  
Rianwyn was built much like Buffy, small and fine-boned, with deceptive strength in her.  He sensed it coming off her in waves and he supposed, if he had the talent, he would have been able to almost see it.  Unlike Buffy, though, she moved easily about in long skirts, unhampered by the excess material.    
  
The cave walls narrowed, closing in on all of them, and the slight incline they’d been walking took a sharp increase, so that they were scrabbling for handholds and stepping up.  Rianwyn uttered a serious of soft words, none of which Spike understood, and the path cleared to reveal ancient steps carved from the stone.  She spoke again, and the soft glowing light rose high enough to skim along the rocky ceiling.    
  
“I know you havee no need of the light, either of you, but even so, it eases the path.”  She spoke over her shoulder, not bothering to glance back.  “The hounds are up ahead.”  
  
“Thanks.”  She was right, neither he nor Lawson needed the light, yet he was still grateful for the gesture.  “Any idea how much further to the other side?”  
  
“Not long.”  There was a particularly steep incline just ahead of them and then the passageway appeared to level off.  She paused where she was, gazing upward.  “This is the last we have to climb.”  
  
“Well, that’s not bad.”  Lawson spoke softly from the rear, his eyes following the same path Rianwyn’s had done.  
  
She murmured something in agreement, then bunched her skirts in one hand and started the climb.  A loose step crumbled under her heel and she teetered off balance for a moment, catching herself before either vampire could react.  Without so much as a real pause, Rianwyn scrambled up the rest of the incline.  Spike watched her move with an assessing eye, and once he joined her at the top, couldn’t stop himself from asking the question that had been plaguing him for most of the trip through the tunnel.  
  
“Tell me something, if you don’ mind.”  He leaned back against the rock wall, his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for Lawson to make the climb.  “Were you a Slayer?”  
  
The shadow of a smile crossed her features and Rianwyn looked away from his intense gaze.  “Nay, I was not.”  
  
A snort of disbelief escaped from him and Spike shook his head.  “Think you’re lying to me, my lady.  Wanna try that again?”  
  
Rianwyn faced him squarely.  “No, I am no slayer.  The Slayer of my time lived in Roma, where the Safn Uffernau was located.  We had no need for a Slayer.”  A look crossed her features, one he couldn’t decipher in the gloom, but Spike got the sense she wasn’t telling him the whole truth.    
  
He held his tongue, knowing if he waited her out, she’d give him more details than she wanted.  His wait was not a long one and before Sam cleared the last step, she was speaking again.  
  
“Perhaps the Gods refused to take pity on us, I do not know even now why it was that we did not have a Slayer among us.  Though mayhap ‘twas because we battled men and not cythreuliaid.  I’ve never cared to ask.”  She glanced away, watching Lawson climb to his feet and shake the dust from his clothing.  “The Saess were attacking, driving us back away from what was once our lands, lands even the Romans had not dared claim.  We had need of every warrior.  Even women.  Everyone fought.  Old men, younglings, girls, boys.  We all fought.“   
  
Spike could feel the emotion in her words, it was so tangible.  He didn’t dare interrupt her though, his curiosity about her for once keeping him silent.  Lawson too, sensed the emotions in the air and waited for her to finish.    
  
“He was not . . .   His half-brother was king, he was merely what you would all a war leader,  a general?”  When both men nodded, Rianwyn sighed deeply.  “It was not for him to become what he is remembered as.  That fate should not have been his.  And yet, the men he led had other ideas.  Other plans.”  
  
She moved away from the wall, staring off into the distance, her vision obviously filled with thoughts of another place, another time, and this mysterious _him_ she kept mentioning.  “He brought the tribes together, for once, getting them to put aside rivalries deeper than the threat of the Saess.  In itself ‘twas a miracle.”  Though her face was angled away from them, Spike could see the beginnings of a heartbreakingly sweet smile playing about her lips.  “He made us better, stronger, and we defeated them.  For a time, the Saess were pushed back.”  
  
Silence filled the narrow tunnel, neither man willing to prod her in to telling them more, afraid she would shy away from the tale.  Her voice, when she spoke again, was thick with tears and Spike pushed himself away from the wall to stand beside her.  “He gambled all, giving all that he had, risking everything to keep his people, his family safe.”  Rianwyn looked up at Spike and he was close enough to see the crystal tears filling her eyes and hear the slow, steady thump of her heart.  “We fought side by side, he and I.  And though you think I have skill and grace enough to be a Slayer, I am not.  He was the warrior, I was his mage.”  
  
Neither man spoke and it was long minutes before Rianwyn did.  Spike was not surprised though, at her words.    
  
“This is where I leave you.  Follow the path and the hounds will lead you safely through.  _Dichon y duwiau tywys dy grisiau_.”  
  
And with that, she was gone.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
While she and Ceridwen had watched the shadow play in the mist, the hall had filled, the inhabitants silently waiting for their attention.  Buffy stole a glance at the Goddess by her side, recognizing in the grim set of her features what was about to commence.  Her nerves, which had been jumping earlier, were strangely calm.  The roiling had eased in her belly and Buffy unconsciously reached out to see if she could feel Spike.   Her answer was more reassurance, and she sensed he was on the move again.  
  
Movement near Gwyn’s chair caught her attention and Buffy followed Ceridwen’s gesture leading her in that direction.  Gwyn was standing in front of the chair, Arianrhod at his right and another male Buffy didn’t recognize on his left.  He was tall, taller even than Gwyn, with dark hair and eyes.  His visage was stern, and though his look was not directed at Buffy, she shivered anyway.    
  
Buffy and her companion approached the three, and once clear of the crowd, Buffy could see what the focal point of attention was.  The unconscious form of Willow was still on the floor where they’d left her hours before.    
  
“Greetings, Chosen One.”  Gwyn’s voice rang through the stillness, speaking more to the assemblage than Buffy herself.  His tone was formal and forbidding, giving no indication that he’d ever had a conversation with her.  
  
Realizing her response wasn’t required, Buffy stepped forward, facing him and the other man.  Arianrhod moved to stand beside Ceridwen, who flanked Buffy, Willow’s prone form between them.  “You are asked to bear witness.”  
  
He gestured toward Willow with his right hand, softly chanting words Buffy couldn’t hear, despite her proximity.  “Wake, Red Willow.”  
  
Very slowly, Willow started to stir, her closed eyelids fluttering, her arms and legs twitching.  A painful groan was wrenched from her lips and she rolled to her knees.  Formerly dark green eyes which opened to dart around at her surroundings were now mostly black.  At first she didn’t react, though slowly as her senses returned, Willow’s expression changed.  Fearfully arrogant, she gingerly got to her feet, her features set and drawn.    
  
“Where am I?”  
  
The question wasn’t abnormal, given the circumstances, however it was obviously unwelcome when Gwyn’s reprimand echoed through the otherwise silent hall.  “I gave you no leave to speak, girl.  All shall be answered in time.”  
  
Buffy could see Willow’s rage building, knew the second she was about to blow and watched, almost detached, when Willow raised her right hand as if to strike Gwyn. The motion, however, was stilled nearly before it started.  Gwyn flicked a glance at Willow, smiled, and raised his hand.    
  
Once again, Willow was bound motionless, allowed only to breathe.  Yet this time, he didn’t render her insensate, leaving her wide awake for what was about to occur.  “Your powers, such as they are, have no strength here.  Best you be aware of that, _genethig_.”  
  
The struggle to free herself was visible only on Willow’s pallid features, though Gwyn paid it no heed, turning slightly again to face the crowd.  “You are all here to bear witness to this reckoning.  Trust has been betrayed, unnecessary vengeance taken against one who did not deserve it.  Reward was stolen rightfully from She who deserved it.”  
  
Gwyn looked around, his eyes sweeping the crowd and he smiled once more.  “Watch.”  
  
He said nothing else, only slowly waved his hand and before their eyes, all that had been seen inside the depths of Ceridwen’s cauldron was revealed.  There was a rustling throughout the crowd as the truth of Willow’s actions was laid bare, and a wolfish smile began forming on the face of the dark haired man next to Gwyn.  Buffy shivered, wondering what he was thinking, afraid she was about to be put on display next.  Instead, she watched while the multitude parted and a tall, broad man stepped forward, following by a woman who was shorter than she.  It was the woman who spoke however, her voice deep and husky.  “Who was it that allowed this to pass?”  
  
Another voice sounded from behind Buffy and she whirled around to face the speaker.  It was a woman who stepped lightly forward, her bright skirts flowing behind her as she almost ran forward.  “One who will always take the path of betrayal over friendship and love.”  
  
She stepped forward, coming to a halt beside Arianrhod.  “Greetings, all.”  
  
Murmured greetings were spoken to her, though Ceridwen leaned down to whisper, “Is all well with them?”  
  
“Aye, when I left them they were moving again, under the mountains toward the next bridge.”  Buffy’s ears perked up and she made the connection to her earlier conversation with the Goddess.  This woman had to be the help sent to Spike.  Buffy leaned forward around Ceridwen and smiled at the other woman, which was returned with the same.  
  
Their exchange was halted, however, when Gwyn stepped forward, closing in on Willow.  “It matters not who allowed the girl access to powers.  That matter shall be dealt with in its own time.  What matters is what she accomplished with those stolen powers.”  He leaned forward, looking down at her.  “What matters is the havoc she caused.  The ones she hurt.”  
  
He moved around her, pacing slowly.  “There is none here to speak for you, none willing to champion your cause.”  
  
Willow’s eyes shifted toward Buffy, who flinched back, then straightened.  “No, look not to the Chosen One, Red Willow.  She cannot champion your cause.  She is the one you betrayed.  Look not to her for assistance.”  Gwyn halted in front of her still form.  “Naught but your actions speak for you.  And those are grievous indeed.”  
  
Gwyn moved away, taking his seat while some of the others shifted around to gain a better vantage point for what was about to occur.  “You sought to bend others to your will, to control those around you.  When their actions escaped your control, you sought other means.  You violated their thoughts, their hearts, their trust.”  
  
Arianrhod and Ceridwen moved then, standing beside Gwyn’s chair, their expressions like none Buffy had ever seen.  Before they had been kind, forgiving, almost motherly; now, though, she could see they were not merely those things.  They were fierce, elemental beings, ones she was suddenly very happy she wasn’t the one standing before them awaiting judgment.    
  
Gwyn leaned forward, his hand on his knee, his eyes boring into Willow’s.  “You have proven to have little care or regard for those you claim to love, those you have sworn to assist.  Time it is for a reckoning for your actions.  The decisions rendered here are final; there is no escape from justice.”  
  
The man next to him spoke, his voice ringing like the deepest of bells, nearly causing the floors and walls to vibrate.  “Three sins you are accused of, Red Willow, betrayal of trust, misuse of gifts freely given, and thievery.  No recourse have you, no explanation or excuse for your actions.  You stole the Chosen One from her reward, and in so doing you stole her destiny.  That triggered yet more thievery, for in stealing one, you stole multitudes.”  He folded his arms over his chest, staring down at her.  “Your fate is sealed.  Hear now the results of your pride and arrogance.”  
  
“Control that you ever sought is wrested from you, lying now within another.  Talent and gifts are harnessed, never to be released until permission granted.  Love and family are always within sight, yet never found.  Release comes not, until the last of your betrayed is at peace.”  Arianrhod spoke, while the others echoed her words, until the sounds filled the hall, reverberating throughout, reaching a thundering crescendo, until only one voice sounded in the silence.  
  
“Your life is spared, through the grace of one you betrayed.”


	74. A courteous yet harrowing grace

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 74. A courteous yet harrowing grace  
  
  
Ye are fallen from grace.   
    Galatians v. 4  
  
You dared to take into your own hands   
the laws of both God and man.   
You set yourself up as both judge and executioner.   
You caused inhuman suffering, and took life   
not from any sense of justice,   
but from hatred and self-gratification.   
You showed no mercy to your victims,   
and no mercy will be shown to you.  
    Il Boia scarlatto (1965)  
  
Alack, when once our grace we have forgot,  
Nothing goes right; we would, and we would not.  
    Measure for Measure, act 4, sc. 4, l. 33-4.   
  
On thy brow  
Shall sit a nobler grace than now.  
Deep in the brightness of the skies  
The thronging years in glory rise.  
And, as they fleet,  
Drop strength and riches at thy feet.   
    William Cullen Bryant, Oh Mother of a Mighty Race_**   
  
  
  
Willow shifted, struggling against the invisible bonds holding her.  Gywn’s words were still echoing in the hall, everyone’s eyes focused on him.  The silence was nearly complete until Willow’s eyes bled black and her voice, guttural and harsh, broke the silence.  
  
“You won’t.  Wouldn’t dare.”  
  
“Dare?  It is not I that dares, child.  ‘Tis you who dares much.”  His booming tones resonated, nearly shaking the walls and the dark haired man moved forward, standing before Willow and looked down at her.  “You presume much, child.  I decree it so.  There is no recourse.”  
  
Arianrhod stepped forward, staring at Willow, who had finally grown still.  “It is done.”  
  
Her hands stretched forward, one palm outward and facing Willow, the other palm upward, facing the ceiling.  A strange, greenish orange orb bloomed over the flat palm, pulsing fast.  When Arianrhod’s voice faded, the pulsing increased and a murky brown color was added to the mix, then black and red.  The orb whirled, hovering over Willow’s head as the crowd began chanting softly, their collective voices blending into a beautiful, inhuman chorus.  Involuntary tears filled Buffy’s eyes as she stood,  transfixed by the sensory overload.  
  
Willow’s body shook and she shrieked, writhing and flailing as the orb darkened.  
  
When the orb exploded in a shower of light, Willow lay on the floor, all color leached from her body.  Her eyes were pale green shards of pain, surrounded by even paler skin.  
  
Anticipating Buffy’s question, the woman who had gone to help Spike whispered softly into her ear.  “In time, her natural color will return.  Until then she will remain as she is.”  
  
“But. . .she’s all. . . She’s Gandalf.”  
  
A soft, barely audible laugh, rippled from the redhead.  “Tis true.  Humility is but one of the  lessons Gwydion thought it best she learn.”  
  
“Gwydion?”  Buffy’s tongue tripped over the unfamiliar name.  “I thought Gwyn was in charge?”  
  
“Aye, this is his hall.  However, it is Gwydion who rules over magics.  He alone has the final decision.”  
  
While they had been whispering like two little girls in church, the crowd had dispersed.  The other girl tugged on Buffy’s arm, pulling her forward.  “Come now, they wish to speak with you.”  
  
Buffy followed, her heart suddenly pounding with worry.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The hounds were crouched in the middle of the trail, waiting for them with tails thumping wildly.  The two vampires hadn’t spoken once Rianwyn left them.  Spike was in no mood for idle conversation, concentrating on thoughts of Buffy.  Wasn’t hard, she was always there, some part of his mind ever focused on her.  His true north, his lodestone.  The light shining in his darkness.  His golden girl.  He still felt her absence keenly, though it was nothing like before, when she was truly gone.  
  
Thoughts of Dawn also filled his mind.    
  
He was worried about her, without either of them there to watch over her.  Knowing Wesley and Giles were there went a long ways toward easing his concerns, though it wasn’t completely gone.  Poor girl had been through too much in the last few days, and he feared for her and what she might do.  Spike could only hope that the stress and strain had finally caught up with her and she would collapse into exhausted sleep.  He’d feel better, though, if he knew for certain because it wasn’t just her he was worried about.  Everyone at home would be exhausted, with only Faith there if anything should happen.  And although his pact with Jenner might still hold, Spike knew they were in a vulnerable position.  The only bright spot was the fact Angelus no longer existed.  And Willow wasn’t there. . .    
  
Which brought him right back to thoughts of Buffy . . .   
  
The scuffle and thump of heavy boots and the soft padding of the hounds’ paws were the only noises echoing through the tunnel.  Spike gauged they’d been walking about two hours when the howling began shaking the walls.  Lawson paused, but Spike just growled out a vicious curse, doing his best to ignore the noise.  
  
Further and further they walked, Spike refusing to give in to the knee-weakening noise.  It neither increased nor abated, merely rang in continuous loops, almost as if one beast ended as another began, assaulting their sensitive ears. He could barely hear himself think and if the noise continued, he knew both of them would be useless when one of the beasts attacked.  
  
The echoes reverberated, bouncing off one wall then the other, buffeting into them like breakers on boulders and it took long minutes for Spike to realize there was light ahead and the noise had ceased.  
  
His ears were still ringing as he followed Lawson and the hounds out into the sunlight.  The tunnel ended in a broad bank, sloping downward toward a narrow strand of beach.  The bright blue water lapped lazily at the pale sand, and both vampires had to blink away reflexive tears.  There was no sign of the predicted bridge and Spike’s hackles rose.  He sniffed the air, searching the skies for any sign of the beasts.  
  
It was eerily quiet.  
  
Too quiet.  
  
Spike ducked, seeing the shadow swoop down, blocking the sunlight.  The beast struck in silence, claws extended and wings outstretched.    
  
His borrowed sword sang, and the whoosh and hiss of outraged, injured demon roared into his ears as black blood sprayed everywhere.  Spike dropped the backpack, pushed Lawson out of the way and hopped neatly over one of the hounds.  Lawson continued to drop down out of Spike’s way, fumbling at the ties holding the backpack closed, searching for another weapon.   
  
The beast swooped in, spittle dripping from its open mouth and Spike thrust into its side, easily loping off one arm.  His arm was back, preparing to deliver a death blow, when he was pushed forward, a second set of claws embedded in his back.  
  
His roar of pain galvanized Lawson into moving and he swung the backpack up and into the side of the second beast’s head, the force of the blow hard enough to kill.  The dead weight dragged Spike down and he was buried under the steaming carcasses.  Wriggling and shifting until he could get free from the claws in his back, while Lawson lifted the first beast and tossed it aside, Spike spewed invectives.  “Fuckin’ bastards.  Bloody fuckin’ hurts.”  
  
Sam leaned over him, a smile cracking his otherwise worried features.  “You should be okay.”  
  
“What? Are you outta your fuckin’ mind?”  Spike grasped his offered hand, looking at Lawson like he’d gone crazy.  
  
“Nope.  You’re yelling, so I know it’s not that bad.”  He grinned then, noting the black blood covering Spike and the slow trickles of red mixing in.  “If you weren’t, then I’d be worried.”  
  
Grumbling more, Spike shrugged out of the duster.  “If you’re so sure I’m gonna be fine, jus’ take a look at my back.”  
  
The other vampire leaned over to look, watching the holes close up as he did so.  “They’re closed already.  Didn’t even have a chance to get dirty.”  
  
Spike flexed his back, testing for himself the amount of healing.  He tried looking over his shoulder, and couldn’t see anything.  Sam started shaking his head, saying, “They’re all gone.  Look at your arms.”  
  
He did, and saw the marks were disappearing, fading into bright pink.  “Must be that blood she gave me.  Said it packed a punch.”  
  
Pulling the duster into his lap, Spike stuck his fingers in one of the holes.  “Too bad it doesn’t help this.”  He got to his feet, kicking at one of the beasts.  “Wonder what it was in the blood.”  
  
“Didn’t she say it wasn’t Slayer blood?”    
  
Spike nodded in answer.  “She did.  Didn’t say exactly what it was, though.”  
  
“Spike?”  He picked up his head to look at Sam and saw him pointing at the water.  “That wasn’t there when we got out of the tunnel.”  
  
“Too bloody right it wasn’t.”   
  
There, at the bottom of the strand, arching up into the now mist covered water, was a bridge.    
  
“Looks like we’ve passed this bloody test.”  Spike shrugged on the duster, hefting the sword and backpack.  “Let’s go.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Faith slammed into the house, the door banging hard against the wall hard enough to make her jump.  “Fuck.”  
  
She realized after the door had already opened that more than likely everyone was asleep.  This was confirmed when she took two steps into the hallway to see Wesley sprawled out on the floor in front of the couch where Dawn was sleeping.  Thankfully, neither one of them moved and hadn’t reacted to her overly dramatic entrance.  Breathing out a soft sigh of relief, since she really didn’t want to talk to anyone, Faith headed for the kitchen.    
  
The cupboards and refrigerator yielded some Christmas cookies, a tray of brownies that looked as if it had already been reduced by half, various types of cheese, and plenty of beer to drink.  Setting everything out on the counter, Faith started eating with a vengeance, her mind blank until she found herself staring down at a cookie with Connor’s name on it.    
  
 _Angel’s kid_.   
  
All this was because of Angel’s kid.  The fight they’d managed to survive, all the vampires being in Sunnydale. . .   
  
_No.  Not thinking about vampires_.    
  
Slow tears trickled from her eyes, dripping onto the dark brownie in her hand.  Faith didn’t want to think of him, but she couldn’t stop herself.  He was . . .  he set her entire body tingling, every nerve ending flaring into overload when he was near.  It wasn’t just sex.  It wasn’t just physical.  Some part of her ached for him, and it wasn’t her pussy.  
  
Surrendering control – or allowing him to seize it –  had her wondering how it would be to let go all the time.  Let someone else be strong, let them get the upper hand.  And that wasn’t something she could allow.  
  
She didn’t dare.    
  
The last person Faith had surrendered control to had used and abused her trust, hurting her in ways she couldn’t ever allow again.  She wouldn’t.  It hurt to much too care.  Caring meant she would be hurt.  
  
Caring meant she was vulnerable.  
  
Something, though, had cracked.  The shell she’d erected around her heart wasn’t as hard.  Otherwise, she would have stayed in prison, left Buffy to survive on her own.   
  
Faith thought she knew why she’d busted herself out of prison.  She’d fooled herself into not thinking too closely about why she needed to be in Sunnydale to help, but she couldn’t any longer.  Buffy had needed her and on some level, Faith trusted that Buffy wouldn’t turn her away.    
  
Buffy’s absence all summer had been the first, deepest crack.  She’d known the moment it happened, known something had gone very, very wrong in the world beyond her prison cell.  Some light had gone out in her soul, dimming it.  The best part of her died right alongside Buffy.  That night had been the first time in a very long while that Faith allowed herself to cry, though it was the following nights that were harder.  Angel’s presence had only confirmed what she’d already known, but it wasn’t his grief she could touch or taste.  He’d been too. . . untouchable . . . unapproachable.  Too remote for her to feel anything from him.  
  
No, the grief she’d picked up on had been harsh and immediate.  Like she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs, because every time she did, it felt like her heart was being ripped out.  
  
That grief. . . it had belonged to someone who’d been with Buffy.  She knew now that had been Spike.  And Dawn.    
  
They’d been so lost to it, drowning in it, that Faith couldn’t not feel it.  
  
It had cracked open the walls Faith tried so hard to dam up; split them apart and allowed all the emotions she’d tried so hard to hold close an exit.  
  
Faith dropped the brownie, furiously wiping away the tears she couldn’t stop.  First Buffy. . . and now Jenner.    
  
Her heart was a raw, thumping mass of scarred emotions, leaving her a frightened, terrified little girl who craved nothing more than love but was so horribly afraid to admit it.  _Oh god, what the hell am I gonna do now?_  
  
There was a rustle of noise to her right and Faith looked up to see a battered and woozy Dawn leaning on the doorjamb.  Her voice was barely there when she spoke, a husk of sound, though the concern was real.  “Are you okay?”  
  
A harsh, bitter laugh sounded in the otherwise silent kitchen.  “I’m five by five, kiddo.  Can’t you fucking tell?”  
  
“Oh yeah.  I can see it from here.”  Dawn’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on either of them.  “I feel like shit, if you wanna know.”  
  
Faith stared at her for a minute, wondering how much she’d actually seen before she made any noise.  “Go back to bed, Dawnie.”  
  
“I need something to drink.”  She moved past the other girl, heading for the refrigerator.  
  
“Stay there. I’ll get it.  You really shouldn’t be up.”  Faith stopped her with a soft hand on her arm.  “You do look like hell.”  
  
“You don’t look much better.”    
  
“Still, I’ve got Slayer stamina and you don’t.”  She handed the younger girl a glass of orange juice and a brownie.  “Might as well soak up the sympathy while I’m in the mood.”  
  
“Thanks.”  Dawn drank down the entire glass, her hand a little shaky, but neither one of them mentioned it.  “Are you sure you’re okay?”  
  
In a moment of vulnerability, still feeling raw, Faith glanced up, ready to give Dawn another angry retort when the look in her blue eyes stopped her.  A sigh huffed from her and Faith looked away.  “I will be.  I’m just . . .”   Realizing at the last second she was about to tell Dawn she was exhausted, and how ridiculous that sounded, she said instead, “It’s been a helluva couple of days.”  
  
Dawn snorted inelegantly at that, sounding very much like her father.  “No shit.”  
  
“Yeah.  I’m sorry about all this.”  They shared a look and Dawn bit into the brownie, making a face.  “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Hurts to chew and swallow.”  
  
Glancing at the bruises ringing Dawn’s throat, Faith didn’t doubt that for a second.  “Want something for the pain?”  
  
Swallowing carefully, Dawn wouldn’t meet Faith’s eyes.  “Can’t take anything.”  
  
“Why the hell not?  You’re in pain.”  Faith headed toward the downstairs bathroom, intent on getting some painkillers for Dawn.  “Nothing like a little pharmaceutical therapy to make the pains go bye-bye.”  
  
“Faith.  I can’t.”  Dawn’s voice was choked, heavy with something other than pain, enough to make Faith stop in her tracks.  
  
“Why not, Dawnie?”  
  
“Because I just can’t.”  Dawn’s voice rose a bit defensively and Faith got the picture.  
  
“You didn’t . . .” Faith’s words trailed off as she walked back toward the other girl.  “Why’d you do it?”  
  
Dawn wouldn’t look at her, just set her jaw and looked away.  Tears glittered in her eyes, but she refused to allow them to fall.  She started to turn away, though Faith’s next words stopped her.    
  
“Dawn.   You aren’t the only one to. . .”  
  
Her head whipped around, long straight hair whirling in the pre-dawn light.  “What?”  
  
“Yeah.  I tried.  Couple of times.”  Faith didn’t shrug it off, didn’t flinch when their eyes met.  “Living sucks sometimes.  Easier just to leave it all and go away.”  
  
Dawn stared at her for long moments, her eyes boring into Faith’s.  The unshed tears finally fell, and a choked hiccup sounded in the air.  Dawn crumpled, sobbing out her grief and pain.  Faith stepped forward to take her into her arms, holding her and letting Dawn’s head drop onto her shoulder.    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Where are we going?  And how do you know they want to talk to me?”  Buffy trailed along behind the other girl, questions firing from her at a rapid pace.  “Who are you?  How is Spike?  Is he okay?  Was he hurt badly?”  
  
A bright smile was directed at her over the other’s shoulder and she laughingly said, “One question at a time.  Which do you really want the answer to first?”  
  
There was no question in Buffy’s mind about that.  She knew exactly which question she wanted answered first.  “Is Spike okay?”    
  
“He was fine when I left him.  And why do you call him Spike?”  She stopped short, turning to look at Buffy as she waited for an answer.    
  
“Because it’s his name.”  Buffy shrugged, getting a look at the disbelief on the other’s face.  “Okay, it’s a nickname.”  
  
“Like an endearment?”   
  
A laugh was her answer.  “Not really.  More like. . .  he got it from . . .”   The thought of why he was called Spike made her pause and wrinkle her nose.    
  
“Ah.  A battle epitaph.”  A wistful look came over her features and the other girl smiled.  “I know another who was called by other than his rightful name.  History does not even remember his real one.”  She grabbed Buffy’s hand again, pulling her forward.  “And I am called Rianwyn.”  
  
They stepped into a hallway that ran perpendicular to the great hall and Rianwyn raced forward, breathlessly explaining the others were waiting for her.  She skidded to a halt before an ornately decorated door, gesturing Buffy to precede her inside.  “Come, they’ve been waiting.”  
  
The room was more rustic than the great hall, there were large, roughly hewn flat stones for the flooring; while the plain, whitewashed walls were sectioned off by thin strips of dark wood.   A large fireplace was recessed into a wall, taking up most of that space.  Chairs and benches were scattered about in loose groupings, musical instruments propped against some.  Opposite the fireplace was a long, wooden table where food and drink were laid out.  The far wall opened onto a wide terrace and people were milling about, talking and laughing, and a few were singing.  Buffy felt so small staring into the room that she was hesitant to enter, but Rianwyn was there beside her, pushing her in.   
  
“Relax.  They asked to see you.”  
  
Hanging on the wall over the table was a huge tapestry. It gleamed with bold colors, drawing Buffy’s eyes.  She walked closer, trying to discern the pattern. It seemed to be interlocking whirls and circles, though the closer she got the harder it became to see.  And then, in a flash the pattern changed, becoming something different.  “Huh?  How did that happen?”  
  
“It was woven so.”  The low, melodic voice sounded from above her and Ceridwen smiled warmly when Buffy glanced up at her.    
  
“It’s beautiful.  Who did it?”    
  
Ceridwen handed Buffy a platter, placing pieces of cheese and other tasty tidbits on it while she answered her.  “My sisters and I all had a hand in it.”  
  
Buffy watched as she piled the plate higher with food she didn’t totally recognize and wondered how on earth she was expected to eat all of it.  “I don’t think I can finish all this.”  
  
“Nonsense, dear, your stomach has been growling for ages.”  Guiding her toward one of the chairs, Ceridwen smiled again.  “Besides, you needs must eat for the bairn.”  
  
“How did you know?”    
  
Ceridwen sat her down, waving a hand.  A small round table appeared between them.  “Silly question, cariad.   I always know when one of mine is with child.”  She motioned Buffy toward the food.  “Eat.”  
  
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Buffy stuffing herself with the delicious food and Ceridwen watching the flames.  After a bit, Ceridwen began speaking again, her voice pitched low and soft.   
  
 “You have a hard road ahead of you, cariad; though the way is not always full of hardship.  Love and laughter will temper the storms, and you shall have years of happiness.  Your William is of strong stuff and he will not fail you.”  When Buffy looked up at the mention of his name, Ceridwen laughed.  “Even now you long to be reunited with him.  In time, my child, in time.  For now you must bide here with me.”  
  
“Have you told her?”  Arianrhod dropped a hand onto Ceridwen’s shoulder, glancing down at her.    
“Told me what?”  Buffy’s eyes grew wide and she tensed in her chair, wondering what the bad news was going to be.  
  
“Relax, ‘tis naught to worry yourself about.”  Ceridwen shushed the other goddess, shaking her head.  “Arian is just anxious for you to know, ‘tis all.”  
  
“For me to know what?”  
  
A sigh broke from the blond goddess, while Arianrhod laughed.  “Leave off, Ceri, stop torturing the child.”  
  
“Very well.”  After directing a pointed look with the redhead, Ceridwen directed her comments to Buffy.  “The magics taken from Willow rightfully belong to another.  One not yet born.”  
  
“What?”  Buffy’s hand closed protectively over her belly, but both goddesses were shaking their heads.    
  
“Nay.  Other gifts has that one.”    
  
“What?  What other gifts? Gifts aren’t always so good.   What’s going to happen?”  Buffy didn’t relax, her whole body poised for flight.   
  
“Cariad, do not fret so.  Your bairn is safe.”  Exchanging another glance, Ceridwen relented.  “Heed me here, child.  There will be those seeking to separate your family.  Do not ever give up.  Ever.  Should you have need of us, we are always here for you.  Do not forget that.”  
  
“We do not abandon those we love, Buffy.  Remember that.  You and William, both.”  Arianrhod sat down, looking intently into Buffy’s eyes.  “You are all that we could ask for in a Chosen One.  You are one of us.”  
  
“Us?”  Buffy hated the fact her voice squeaked and she cleared her throat, trying again.  “I’m not sure what you mean.”  
  
“All aspects of the goddess converge in you at this moment.  Maiden, Mother, Crone, and Warrior  and we honor you for that.”  Arianrhod held onto Buffy’s hands, drawing her to her feet.    
  
“I’m not a Maiden.”  
  
Tinkling laughter met her statement, and it was Ceridwen who answered.  “Though you are bonded to your William, your union is not yet sanctioned by the gods; so in that you are Maiden.  And before you speak, you are the elder Chosen One, are you not?”  At her reluctant yes, Ceridwen continued.  “Therefore you are Crone.  Yet above all, you are Warrior.  And that is what we honor.”  
  
Gwyn appeared behind them, his look grim and tired.  “Ladies, it is time.  Our guest needs must return to her home.”  
  
“Not yet.”  Both women stood, motioning Gwyn to wait.    
  
First Ceridwen and then Arianrhod stepped forward, placing their hands on Buffy.  Their voices blended together, chanting a blessing for her, the words easing themselves into Buffy’s soul.  “Rest you gentle, child.  Sleep you safe.  And remember, we are with you.”  
  
Buffy’s eyes drifted closed, a smile playing softly on her face and her last conscious thought was for the baby she carried under her heart.  _I need to remember this, so I can tell you . . .  
_  
The last thing she felt, as she drifted way, was the soft kiss of grace.  
  
  
  
                                          
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Emily Dickinson’s As imperceptibly as Grief


	75. To protect someone precious

_**Book Two  
  
Chapter 75.  To protect someone precious  
  
This bridge is the place we fight to connect our dreams.   
Me, for the sake of my dream, and you, for the sake of your dreams.   
Please don't hate me.   
I want to protect someone precious to me...   
To work for that person's sake,   
to fight for that person's sake, to make that person's dreams come true.  
    Naruto, season 1, episode 14  
  
A sister can be seen as someone who is both ourselves   
and very much not ourselves - a special kind of double.  
    Toni Morrison  
  
Sisters we are, yea, twins we be,  
Yet deadly feud ‘twixt thee and me;  
For from one father are we not,  
    Anne Bradstreet, The Flesh and the Spirit   
  
**_  
  
  
Unlike the last bridge, this one was a narrow, rocky natural bridge, climbing higher and higher until they were nearly climbing another cliff.  Spike grumbled, cursing the trail the higher it got.  He was beginning to think it wasn’t a bridge at all when the rocks leveled off to a craggy outcropping.  Barely a dozen paces away, opposite where Spike was standing, was the beginnings of a rope bridge.  
  
The hounds flopped down, tongues hanging, panting heavily from the strenuous climb.  Lawson struggled to his feet behind Spike, who merely shook his head in disbelief.  
  
“Chief?”  
  
“I don’ fuckin’ believe this.”  When Lawson gazed at him in confusion, Spike pointed toward the ropes.  “We’re supposed to cross that.”  
  
“What?”  Lawson gaped at the rickety bridge, warily edging closer. The far end of the bridge wasn’t visible, the ropes disappearing into the heavy mist thirty paces or so from their end of it.   “Chief, that’s. . .”  
  
“Yeah.  ‘M not happy ‘bout this at all.”  He made a face, heaving a ponderous sigh.  “Might as well get to it.”  
  
Whistling for the hounds, Spike reluctantly took the first step on the wooden slats holding the ropes together.    
  
He was really tired of high places.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The two brunettes stepped away from each other, both wiping away tears.  Neither one of them spoke for long minutes, thoughts neither were ready to share swirling in their heads.  
  
Dawn slumped against the center island, unable to get her limbs coordinated enough to sit down.  A groan escaped her and she muttered half to herself, “Feel like I’ve been steamrolled and dropped head first into a pit.”  
  
“Probably same pit I’ve seen.”  Faith opened the refrigerator, extracting milk and juice.  Brandishing both at Dawn, she quipped, “Pick your poison.”  
  
Her answer came as she snagged another cookie.  “Gimme milk.”   
  
Slapping down the carton on her way past Dawn, Faith chugged the juice straight from the container.  Back before Dawn had a chance to pour, she dropped a small white pill on the counter.  
  
Dawn gaped at it, hands frozen around the milk carton.  “Faith, you know I can’t.”  
  
“And you aren’t.  I am.”  Brusquely pouring the milk into a glass, Faith continued, “Look, Tylenol ain’t cutting it.  You need something a little stronger.  So take it.  It’s the only time I’m gonna offer ‘til big sis gets back.”  
  
Faith slid the full glass over to Dawn.  “Your call.”  
  
She stared at the pill for so long, Faith thought she was going to have to force her to take it.  As Dawn was finally about to swallow it, she asked, “Why?”  
  
Faith fixed her dark eyes on Dawn, her wide mouth set in firm lines, flattening her dimples.  Her voice was soft, unexpected affection warming her words.  “Lots of reasons, squirt.  Mostly because you need it.”  
  
It was enough of an answer for Dawn.  
  
The small white pill slipped easily between her lips chased by the cold milk.  
  
Without any other words between them, Faith helped Dawn into the living room, settling her back on the couch.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Using his considerable strength, Jenner finally pulled apart the clothes binding him to the bed.  Faith had left him almost two hours earlier, and daylight was beginning to streak the night sky when he crossed the threshold of the small hotel he and his minions had commandeered.  Inhaling deeply, Jenner fought the other smells assaulting his nose, searching for a hint of the aroused and frightened Slayer.  Faith had been scared, he could see it clearly in her eyes, had felt it trembling along the lines of her muscles, the hitch in her breathing.  It wasn’t because she was afraid of dying.  She was afraid of living.  Living with the knowledge that he’d stolen something from her.  
  
And he was damned certain it wasn’t her innocence.  
  
Faith had the look and taste of a woman who’d said and done things because she wanted to make an impression – to be remembered.  To stand out in some small way.  Which, to his mind, was a bit ridiculous.  The girl was a Slayer and therefore destined to be unforgettable.  
  
Yet it was something else, some other emptiness inside of her that drove her to outrageous behavior.  Sex with her was just another way to hide, another blockade to surmount.  Faith was hiding some part of her, some fragile, wary, scared part of her that both craved and decried the need for contact.  For being needed.  For being seen.   
  
That was why she always needed to be in control.    
  
There was no middle ground with a woman like Faith.  Love wasn’t an issue and neither was sex.  For Faith, the issue was trust.    
  
Jenner had pushed her past her limits, removing all control from her hands, staking his claim on her without fangs.  He’d pushed and pushed until she had no choice but to cave.  Which explained her inability to stake him.  It also explained why she was drawn to him.  
  
Sunlight bloomed over the tops of the buildings, driving him back inside the hotel.  Growling for Hawkins, Jenner faced the second disappointment of the day.  When Paulie appeared, stuttering and anxious, hands clenched nervously in front of him, Jenner knew whatever he was about to say wasn’t going to change his mood for the better.  
  
“He’s gone.  Taken the sloop and headed for . . . I’m not really sure where.”  The smaller vampire cringed, ducking the blow he was certain to receive.  To his surprise, it never came.  
  
“Fuck.”  Jenner’s tone was bereft of emotion, exhaustion finally stealing through him. He should have expected Hawkins to leave, had known that he would take the first opportunity and go.  Glynnis had been his companion for nearly fifty years – not something one just forgot.  Her loss had hit him hard, and compounded by the unexpectedness of it, no doubt he was fuming at his sire.    
  
Waving Paulie away, Jenner dropped his head.  He needed sleep.  And blood.  And . . .  Faith.  
  
He’d have to settle for two out of three.  Only until nightfall.    
  
The instant the sun went down, he was going to find her.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Faint streaks of sunlight were breaking over the streets of Sunnydale when just in front of 1630 Revello Drive, a pulsing, wavering rainbow of light burst into being.  Mrs. Graverman’s dogs howled, while the Henderson’s cat hissed in surprise at the power emanating down the street.  
  
The rainbow coalesced into a starburst, rays of multicolored light radiating outward from a central point to just about the middle of the street.  Had any humans been out and about at that early hour, their eyes would have been blinded from the intensity, though thankfully only the four-legged denizens of that small town were awake.  The animals shied away, darting for cover.  
  
Emitting a flare of green and gold light, the starburst popped, then disappeared, leaving behind the figure of a deceptively small woman.  
  
Blinking heavily and feeling the fatigue and stress of the last few days weighing on her again, Buffy shivered in reaction to the change in time and space.    
  
 _Home sweet home. . .  
  
Where the heck is everyone?  I figured someone would still be up._  Sniffing a little at being forgotten, Buffy headed for the front walk.  The lights were all out, though the shiny red sports car Giles drove was still parked out front, while the DeSoto and Jeep were in the driveway.  _Okay, looks like it’s still party central at Buffy’s.  
_  
Shaking her head at her own irreverence, Buffy slipped quietly in the front door.  There was a faint noise from somewhere in the back of the house and Buffy figured someone must still be awake. Heading for the kitchen, she surprised Faith, who was rummaging about in the cabinets, with her back to the rest of the house.  
  
“Hungry?”  
  
“Holy shit, B!”  Faith jumped, whirling around to face the other slayer.  “God damn it!  Don’t do that.”  
  
A sly smile played about Buffy’s lips and she barely managed to stifle the inappropriate giggle threatening to erupt.  “Sorry.  I thought you heard me come in.  And, well. . .”  She started to elaborate when Faith held up a hand.  
  
“You thought I was blondie.”  
  
“Ah.  Yeah.”  Doing a poor job of feigning nonchalance, Buffy glanced around.  “Where is he?”  
  
“He’s not back yet.  Went after the baby.”  Faith shut the cabinet, trying to look less like an interloper.  “Watchers figured out where he had to go and how to get him there, then he and the other vamp took off.”  
  
“So how long have they been gone?”  Buffy made a beeline for the refrigerator, snagging some of the Christmas cookies on the way.    
  
“Not sure.  I wasn’t here when they left.”    
  
Raising an eyebrow in question, Buffy asked, “Where were you?”  
  
Faith looked away, not really wanting to get into a whole discussion about where she was and who she’d been with, but Buffy must have read something in her expression, because a smile bloomed and she laughed at her.  “Never mind.  You were with Jenner, huh?”  
  
“It’s not like that, B.”  
  
“Not like what?  You mean you weren’t knocking boots?”  This time, Buffy laughed outright at the expression on Faith’s face.  “Oh, c’mon, Faith.  I live with Spike.  You don’t really think I’m that innocent and prissy, do you?”  
  
Trying to work past the idea of Buffy being blunt and open about sex, Faith shook her head.  “I guess not, not with that hottie around all the time.”  
  
A cool eyebrow quirked in her direction; a move eerily reminiscent of the vampire in question. “Just remember that hottie is mine.”  
  
Holding up her hands, Faith nodded her head.  “Got that memo loud and clear.  We’re cool.”  
  
Waiting patiently for Faith to elaborate, Buffy systematically demolished more than half the tray of cookies, then moved onto the oranges and bananas, downing glasses of water between bites.  When Faith kept her silence, Buffy looked up, her cheeks full of banana, and blushed at the look on the other Slayer’s face.  “What?  I’m hungry.”  
  
“I see that.”  
  
Buffy huffed a little.  “Look, the morning sickness has been really bad.  I couldn’t eat anything at all.  So when I get hungry, I eat.”  Switching topics completely, Buffy didn’t take her eyes from Faith.  “So, what’s up with you and Jenner?”  
  
“Nothing.”  Stubbornly staying mute on the subject, Faith turned the tables on Buffy.  “What happened with Willow?”  
  
“Way long story.  Really only wanna tell it once.  I’ll wait ‘til everyone’s here.”    
  
“Where is she?”  
  
Buffy shrugged.  “I’m not sure.  Last time I saw her, she was pretty out of it.  I guess she’s going to get sent back here eventually.”  
  
“And you’re okay with that?  I thought you were best buds?”    
  
It took a long time for Buffy to respond, and when she finally did, Faith was shocked by the suppressed anger in her voice.  “No.  Not in a long time.  I can’t forgive her for what she did.  She ripped me out of heaven and drugged Dawnie and Tara to do it.  And she lied about all of it.  Lied to me, to Giles, to everyone.  She. . .  she wasn’t even sorry she did any of it.”  
  
Wiping away a few stray tears, Buffy continued.  “She tried to kill Dawnie and Spike.  God, what she put me through that night, I don’t think I can ever forgive that.  And it wasn’t like she even thought about what she was doing.   She just didn’t like the way things were turning out and she decided that was wrong.”  Buffy shook her head, fighting more tears.  “All this stuff?  Her fault.  Hers and Angel’s.”  
  
For the second time in as many hours, Faith found herself hugging one of the Summers girls as she cried.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Spike was counting off the steps in his head in an attempt to fool himself into not panicking.  At least this time the mist wasn’t oppressive, wasn’t weighing in on them and darkening.  This mist almost felt soothing, like cool showers after a scorching hot day, a relief and respite from what lay behind them.    
  
He refused to think about the bridge giving way, or the wooden slats creaking and cracking beneath his feet; or about how far a drop it might be.  Short of a drop into holy water or fire or even bright sunshine, there wasn’t any fall he wouldn’t survive, though that didn’t mean it would be easy or painless.  The bridge swayed and dipped in some spots, but held fast and strong.  
  
At step one hundred forty-seven – and he was aware of the irony – he felt the bridge dip dangerously and he paused, inhaling deeply.  Lawson froze behind him and the dogs, no more than twenty paces ahead, also stopped.  Snippets of sound, soft sibilant whispers of noise, rose in the air around them.  Spike groaned.  _Not this shite again._  
  
He waited, hoping the sound didn’t presage bad news.  When the noise neither increased nor abated, he hazarded a step forward.  And a second one.    
  
By the fifth step forward, the hounds started moving again, and Lawson was gingerly catching up, carefully stepping on the same slats Spike had used.    
  
The cadence of the whispers changed, easing into a soft chant, high and sweet.  The mist began clearing, patches of blue sky and sunlight breaking through.  He looked down to see the waters less than a hundred feet below them.  Dolphins crested the otherwise smooth surface and low flying white birds soared just above the frolicking creatures.     
  
Spike laughed in sheer relief.  Glancing up again, he caught a glimpse of the opposite end, and waiting for them at the end was Rianwyn.  She waved, urging them forward and the hounds bounded toward her, making the bridge bounce violently.  Spike was right behind them with Lawson hot on his heels.  
  
“Greetings, my lord.”  Rianwyn curtsied low, a mischievous smile on her face and a merry twinkle in her eyes.    
  
“What’s this then?”  Spike stared at her, unsure of what had just transpired.  “What the hell happened jus’ now?”  
  
Her laughter seemed to clear away the last vestiges of the mist.  “That was Drochaid na Duil.”  
  
Spike ran a hand through his hair.  “My Gaelic is more than a bit rusty, an’ I don’t think Lawson here speaks any.  Would you mind translating that for me?”  
  
“In Saes, it means Bridge of Hopes, more or less.”  Her smile was bright and he was once again struck by how much she reminded him of Buffy.    
  
“Guess that means you hope more or less you get across.”  She laughed at his grumbled words, shaking her head.  
  
“It means your search is nearly done.  Just one more trial and then you can return to your home.”  Her hand on his forearm, she pulled him forward, motioning Lawson to follow them.  “This is a dire test, though I am certain sure you will succeed.”  
  
“Damn glad _you_ are, princess.  ‘M not so sure myself.”    
  
The bridge ended on a cliff top, which sloped downward gently to a grassy plain as far as they could see.  It reminded him of the coastline of the western part of England, up near the Lake District, where there were still to this day vast open areas.  His parents had taken the family there one summer when he was nearly twelve and he could still remember the views.  This place was very much like that.    
  
Rianwyn’s smile faded a bit, and her eyes darkened.  “To be sure it shall not be easy.  But I know what kind of warrior you are, William.  You will succeed.”  
  
The eerie wailing of a lone uilleann piper echoed over the cliffs drawing their attention.  “Gonna have company in a bit.”  
  
Her expression turned grim, though she tried to hide it from them.  “They are here.”  
  
Four figures approached, emerging from behind a small copse of trees, moving at a leisurely pace toward them.  The piper hung back, stopping first and letting the mournful tune draw to a close. The other three came closer and as they did, Spike identified two of them as women and the third was a youth of about the same age as Dawn.  
  
The two women stopped a handful of steps away, faces lined and worn from years out in harsh conditions.  They were about the same height, standing just shorter than Spike. Sporting short kilts and leather vests, both had swirling blue tattoos on their muscular arms and legs.  Long dark plaits hung over their shoulders, wrapped in thin ties that matched the plaids of their kilts.  Heavy boots and wicked looking swords completed their look.  If they had been a bit more feminine, Spike might have been inclined to tease and flirt, since he loved nothing more than a woman who could hold her own in a fight.  But these two were another story altogether.  There was nothing soft about either of them.  
  
“Why have you brought this amadan here?”  One stepped forward, towering over the slight form of Rianwyn.  
  
“He is here as our guest.  You know this.”  Rianwyn held her ground, didn’t even flinch when the other raised her hand.  
  
The second one spoke, moving to stand beside the first. “No guest comes so armed.”  
  
“He is armed because he must be.  Three challenges must he face.  Yours is the last.”  
  
Eyeing Spike with something close to disdain, the two spoke together.  “Does he know what he must do?”  
  
“Nay, I have not told him.”    
  
The second of the two sighed.  “Very well.”  She pointed to the piper.  “We will wait there.”  
  
On silent feet they moved away, taking the boy with them.  With one eye on them, Rianwyn pulled Spike closer.  “This place is Rath na Claidheamh.”  Motioning him to silence, she added, “The Place of Swords.  You must defeat them both in order to achieve your goal.”  
  
“Who the bleedin’ hell are they?”  Spike followed her lead, whispering heatedly.  “How good are they?”  
  
A bitter laugh escaped her.  “They are legend.”  Surreptitiously pointing to the one wearing mostly green, Rianwyn added, “That is Scathach.  It was she who trained Cuchulain and Finn MacCumhail. The other is Aife, her twin.”  
  
“How the . . .  _bleedin’ fuck_!  How in hell do you ‘spect me to fight them?”  Spike stared down at Rianwyn, disbelief flooding through him.  “Dunno much about them, princess, but I’ve heard tale of the other two.  You’re telling me I have to beat goddesses at swordplay?”  He paced a bit, looking at her again.  “You’re off your nut.”  
  
“William.”  She stepped in front of him, halting his pacing.  “You can do it.  You need only disarm them.”  
  
He laughed then, the sound bitter and harsh.  “Might as well ask me to off them both.  Can’t see disarming them without killin’.”  
  
“You have an advantage over them.”  She moved in front of him, blocking his view of the two women.   
  
“How do you figure that, sweetheart?”  Spike wasn’t ready for this, wasn’t prepared to take on two expert swordswomen.  
  
“You are just as strong as they are and you are left handed, are you not?”  At his nod, she continued.  “There are not many swordsmen who fight as you do.  They have not faced many.  In fact, I think you are only the third.”  
  
“An’ the other two?”  
  
“Defeated them.”  When his look turned disbelieving, Rianwyn stared him down.  “With my own eyes, did I see them beaten so.  My lord himself is left handed and he did so easily.”  
  
Witnessing the certainty in her eyes, he nodded.  “I’ll do my best.”  
  
A crooked smile crossed her lips. “Tis all we ask of you, William.  ‘Tis all she wants.”  
  
“Someday, princess, you’ll tell me who that man is, yeah?”  Ignoring her other comment, Spike handed his sword and backpack to Lawson, who had remained quiet throughout their exchange.  Taking off his duster, he handed that to Lawson also.    
  
Sam looked at him and said, “Sire, you’re the best fighter I’ve ever seen.”  
  
Nodding at Lawson’s words, Spike muttered, “Not sure that’s gonna count for much here an’ now.”  
  
Spike popped his neck, shaking his arms and loosening up the muscles in his legs.  Inhaling deeply, he started to speak, but Rianwyn waved off his words.  “There is no need for last words, William.  You can do this.”  
  
“All right then.”  He shook his head, amazed by her confidence in him.  He knew his way around a fight, that was for sure, though he’d never engaged in a formal challenge, not like this.  The two champions Rianwyn had mentioned were Celtic legends; the leaders of troops of warriors famed for their prowess and fearless natures.  Spike wasn’t going to fool himself into believing he was worthy of being in their vaulted company.  And yet there she was –  that slip of a girl who was so much like his Buffy that it ached to look at her at sometimes – telling him she believed.  
  
He could almost fool himself into believing it was Buffy uttering those words.    
  
Shaking off his reverie and intently focusing his attention on the moment, Spike deliberately pushed all thoughts of Buffy aside.    
  
The two women prowled closer, gaits loose and prepared.  Spike hefted the well balanced blade in his right hand, tightening his fingers around the grip.  They circled each other, the women widening their circle with each step, so that eventually they would come at him from both sides.  Anticipating that maneuver, Spike sidestepped to his left, keeping them both in his line of sight.  He could hear their heartbeats, one the echo of the other, and he knew he had the advantage there also.     
  
The urge to shift into game face was surging through him, but he shoved it aside.  _Better hold off on that ‘til they least expect it._   “All right, ladies, shall we dance?”  
  
His grinning chuckle caught them a bit by surprise and Scathach responded by laughing.  “Oh, yes, amadan, we shall.”  
  
Fully expecting her to take the first swipe at him, Spike braced himself, only to be surprised by the blow coming from her sister, Aife.  She aimed for his leg, and he jumped, avoiding the cut.  That seemed to be the signal, for Scathach dove into fight, aiming high on his chest.  Spike blocked her, bringing his own sword up and then whirling around to face her counterpart.    
  
The first few blows were wild, aimed more at gauging his abilities than attempting to inflict any real damage, though that rapidly changed.  Steadily increasing the force of their attack, the two women swiftly had him on the defensive, as he bobbed and weaved away from their deadly swords.  Aife struck hard, laying a heavy blow on his right side and Spike felt his ribs give under the force of the hit.  Growling lowly, he followed his instincts and favored that side more heavily, in an effort to fool them into thinking he’d been hurt worse than he was.    
  
Scathach moved in, aiming for the spot where his neck flowed into his shoulder and Spike ducked, rolling his shoulder and knocking her off balance.  She overcompensated, flipping into the move and rolling over his back.  Aife stalked around to the other side, keeping him in the circle of their swords and he jumped when she once again aimed low.  Her sister came at him simultaneously, once more aiming for his shoulder.  Spike twisted in mid-jump, flipping up and over them, landing behind Aife.  
  
Done with playing now, and knowing he had a slight advantage for the moment, Spike shifted the sword easily into his dominant hand.  He advanced on Aife, driving her steadily and quickly backward, deliberately keeping her off-balance.  She lunged back, narrowly avoiding a vicious thrust into her side, and dropped down to her haunches, desperate to find an opening.  Her breathing and heart rate jumped, and Spike’s grin appeared, his tongue peeking out between curved lips.  
  
“C’mon, ladies, let’s have a go, yeah?”  
  
Scathach rumbled a warning and he had a half second to react before she struck, her sword heading for his injured right side.  Spike pivoted on his right foot, his left leg into the kick before she could react.  His foot crushed into her unprotected ribs, and she landed flat on her back, gasping for air.  Aife had recovered though and launched herself at him.  Screeching her anger, her sword blurred with the ferocity of her attack.  
  
Spike held her off, waiting for the moment to strike his own blow.  Scathach had regained her feet, watching the other two fight for a moment, looking for an opening to rejoin them.  Spying her, Spike made a split second decision.  Wrapping his right hand around her back he reached around her for her sword arm.  Using her body as a fulcrum, he jumped up, slamming both feet into Aife, dropping her down easily.  She groaned, every rib in her side broken and rolled to her side, coughing up blood.  Spike dropped down, slamming one heel onto her wrist, loosening her grip on the sword.    
  
Aife collapsed then, barely uttering “Yield” before she passed out.  
  
Scathach, though, had reacted more violently, whirling around even before Spike’s feet returned to the ground, catching him with a surprise fist to the face as her sister was speaking.  Wiping away his blood with a snicker, Spike grinned, letting the adrenaline rush through him.  Following up the punch with a second one, she hooked her foot behind his, pushing him backward.  Spike landed on his back, chuckling when she stood over him, her nostrils flaring.  “Do you give, amadan?”  
  
He chuckled again, raising himself up on his elbows. “Not a chance, pet.”  
  
Gracefully rolling forward, Spike tackled her as he pushed to his feet. Shoving her off balance, he brought up his sword, arcing it toward her head.  She ducked, pitching over and around, coming at him from waist level.  He arched backward, almost eluding the blow, but the tip caught on his left hip, yanking him further off balance.  Using the awkwardness of his surge backward, Spike brought up his right leg, aiming his foot for her head.  Scathach ducked, though not in time and his boot connected with her jaw.  She shrieked in pain, swinging the flat edge of her blade at his head in retaliation.  Spike turned, turtling a little, so that his shoulder took the majority of the blow.  Angered now, Scathach was getting sloppier, and her blows became wilder and less controlled.  Knowing he had the advantage finally and that it was only a matter of time before she conceded, Spike pressed his attack.  
  
The end came as their swords locked, and he reached for her with his right hand, grabbing her around the neck.  Twisting her around and pulling her hard against his chest, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth into her neck.  Spike shifted into game face and growled lowly.  “Do you give?”  
  
Shuddering, unsure of what demon held her in its grip, Scathach fought his hold, struggling to break free.  Spike hooked his leg in front of hers, holding her more fully against him.  “It’s done, pet.”  
  
He dropped his sword, disarming her in the next instant. He pushed her down so that she was sitting next to the prone form of her sister and held Scathach’s own sword poised at her throat.  “Do you yield?”  
  
Her expression seethed with anger, and her breath came in short, harsh pants. She spat at his feet, the single word spoken with no grace at all.  “Aye.”  
  
Spike reversed the hilt, returning her sword to her.  
  
Rianwyn approached, a smile wreathing her features.  “Well done.”  
  
Spike shared a glance with Lawson, and he said, “Don’t mean to be rude, princess, but where’s the sprog?”  
  
“He’s here.”  
  
Spike turned and stared.


	76. First step home

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 76.   First step home  
  
Home is a name,   
a word, it is a strong one;   
stronger than magician ever spoke,   
or spirit ever answered to,   
in the strongest conjuration.   
    Charles Dickens, Martin Chuzzlewit  
  
This is my home, the country where my heart is;  
Here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine;  
But other hearts in other lands are beating  
With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.   
    Lloyd Stone, This is my Song  
  
Lost somewhere alone   
Late coming home   
No one to guide me   
All I had to call my own   
Are a star and a stone   
They keep telling me my eyes don't see   
That they are blinded   
Come and be just like me   
Say the star and a stone   
Something keeps whispering   
Nothing can stop you nothing can hold you down   
And something keeps pushing me   
Nothing can stop you nothing can hold you now   
As I had my take my first step home   
My way is shown by a star and a stone   
Lost somewhere alone   
Late coming home   
No one to guide me   
And all I had to call my own   
Are a star and a stone   
    Robert Kimmel and Ken Edwards, Star and a Stone recorded by The Stone Poneys  
  
_**  
  
Xander stared at the husked out remains of Sunnydale High School, watching the sun rise over the destroyed brick and smashed windows, wondering when everything fell apart.  Five years of fighting everything the Hellmouth threw at them – demons, hell gods, and countless vampires –  it had boiled down to them being isolated again.  He and Willow had always been the outsiders; she the brainy geek and him the class clown.  Yet they’d been best friends since kindergarten, bonding over crushed crayons, stolen lunches, and being otherwise friendless.    
  
High school and the arrival of one Buffy Summers had changed all that.  He and Willow had grown so much, come so far in those four years of schooling.  Buffy’s arrival had catapulted them into a world they had been pretending didn’t exist; allowing them to take a stand against the forces of darkness.  She’d welcomed them both, protecting them and letting them fight alongside her.  Until now.    
  
Dawn’s appearance had changed the dynamic of the group, with consequences they hadn’t realized until it was too late.  Those last days, the last battle with Glory would be forever etched in his memory.  Xander didn’t realize it then and was only coming to terms with just now, months after the fact.  
  
They’d all known, on some level, that Buffy could die during the course of any battle.  She’d died within months of her arrival, drowning in a small puddle of water; saved only by his timely intervention.  But she’d survived, stepping back from the final precipice and she’d survived every battle after that.  Even when it seemed like she couldn’t possibly win, wouldn’t make it through, she somehow managed to beat the odds stacked against her.  
  
Until Dawn and Glory.  
  
The irony of their names struck him then.  Dawn; supposedly the herald of wonderful new beginnings and Glory. . . well, Glory was supposed to mean something other than what she’d been. Instead they’d been death and destruction.    Together they’d caused the death of the strongest person he’d ever met, destroying forever their insular little group.  
  
 _That’s not really the whole truth, is it?_  
  
Xander wasn’t normally one for deep thought and reflection, though he was a bit smarter than some gave him credit for.  Everything that had happened since Willow had brought Buffy back and in the last couple of days was forcing him to think.    
  
They’d sort of managed to pick up the pieces after Buffy’s death, relying on Spike to maintain the Hellmouth.  _And why the hell did we trust him to do that in the first place?_  
  
Giles was responsible for that, letting Spike handle the bulk of slaying duties, and at the time Xander hadn’t considered the irony of that.  The scariest vampire to ever set foot in Sunnydale had become its champion.  So, because Giles and Dawn trusted Spike, the rest of them followed, whether they liked it or not.    
 _  
Yeah, but the bleached wonder wasn’t really the problem, was he?_  
  
Xander had to admit that having Spike around had made things a lot easier while Buffy had been gone.  And he really wasn’t the problem when she’d come back either.  He’d just kept doing what he’d been doing all summer.  Protecting the girls and taking care of them.  Providing for them.  Doing the kind of things Xander had wanted to do.  He wanted to be the one taking care of all the girls, the one guy they all looked up to.  He wanted to be the hero.  
  
Staring at the charred remains of the high school, Xander faced his failings.    
  
He wasn’t the hero.  
  
He was _never_ going to be the hero.  
  
The other truth he didn’t really want to face was the feeling that deep down, he didn’t really _want_ to be the hero.  
  
Spike stepped up and did the right thing – because it was the right thing.  He couldn’t blame Spike’s Buffy obsession for what he’d done all summer, because Buffy hadn’t been around.    
  
Nor could he forget the look on Spike’s face when he’d stepped aside to reveal Buffy standing behind him.  He should have known that night, _that instant_ , when Buffy had instinctively reached for Spike when she’d been overwhelmed.  Should have known.  He might have kinda sorta of guessed it then, but didn’t want to deal with the evidence before his eyes.  
  
Buffy didn’t need him.    
  
Not the way she needed Spike.    
  
Though he did get some sick satisfaction out of the fact she didn’t need Angel either.   
  
Spike he had at least some grudging respect for, especially after all the things he’d done.    
  
Xander left off comparing the two vampires, knowing he was just avoiding thinking about his own actions and thoughts by focusing on them.  He’d been wrong.  He’d trusted Willow blindly when he probably shouldn’t have.  Had automatically taken her side without looking at all the facts.  Had _refused_ to look at all the facts – and flat out denied there was another side to things.    
  
All because it was Willow.  
  
He’d even ignored Anya in favor of Willow.  
  
Xander stared down at his calloused hands, turning them over and over, looking at the scars and worn down skin.  His hands were years older than he was, both from the construction work and the slaying activities over the years.  They looked not all that different from Spike’s, when he compared them.  Yet Buffy never looked to him for help the way she did Spike, always relegated him to the “safe zone”.   
  
Maybe all Anya’s accusations about him being in love with Buffy weren’t wrong.  Xander shrugged off that thought, because he didn’t want to think about that.  He was tired of thinking.  His thoughts kept going round in circles anyway, leading him back to the same thing.  
  
With one last glance at the ruins, Xander put the car in gear and drove off, leaving his thoughts and memories behind him.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The two Slayers broke apart, Buffy wiping away her tears while Faith pretended she didn’t notice them.  
  
It took her long minutes to compose herself, but when Buffy finally did gain control, she muttered an apology, which Faith just waved off.  “It’s cool, B.  A whole lotta shit’s been going down and you’re entitled to the tears.”  
  
Buffy stared at her in disbelief.  “Okay, you are so not the Faith I know.  Are you a pod person?”  
  
Barking out a husky laugh, Faith shook her head.  “Had a long time to think while I was locked up.  I guess I figured some shit out, you know?  Not much else to do in lock down.”  
  
There was nothing Buffy could say about that, knowing she was partially the reason why Faith had gone to prison.  
  
The other girl seemed to read her mind.  “It was all on me, though, so don’t blame yourself. I’m the one that killed the Mayor’s aide.  I was the one outta control.  You’re just the one that forced me to face it.”  Faith played with one of the knives, flipping it over and over.  “I was wicked pissed at you for a long time.”  
  
Once more Buffy found herself speechless, unable to reconcile this more mature Faith with the wild and totally out of control girl she’d been two years before.  “Wow.”  
  
Faith shrugged and looked away.  “I got wiser.”  
  
Buffy stared at her, willing the other girl to look up at her.  When she finally did, Buffy offered her a small smile.  “Thanks for coming, Faith, I . . . I appreciate it.”  
  
Her counterpart’s dark eyes grew misty and Faith sniffed hard, fighting tears.  “No big.”  
  
The two girls lapsed into a companionable silence, at ease with each other for the first time in a very long while.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Willow glared up at the implacable expression gracing the features of the man looming over her.    
  
“What did you _do_ to me?”  
  
Her choked voice was a harsh, bare whisper of sound.  Yet it was the anger and disdain that laced through her words that demanded the attention of the gods still present in the hall.  Arianrhod froze, her gaze shifting immediately to Gywn, who merely raised an eyebrow.  Ceridwen, however, swiftly closed the distance to Gwydion’s side.  
  
“Have a care how _you_ speak, _little girl_.”  
  
Willow sneered, the glare still in place, though this time it was directed at the blond goddess.  “ _Tell me what you did_.”  
  
“ _All_ is stripped from you.  The power you stole and that which was yours.”  
  
“Why?”  Tears of frustration surfaced in Willow’s eyes.  “ _Why_ did you do this?”  
  
“Have you not been listening?  Have you not understood any of this?”  Gwyn leaned down to look into Willow’s eyes.  
  
“She understands.”  Ceridwen’s tone was hard and her expression unflinching.  “The girl knows.  She is no fool, though she acts like one.”  
  
An emotion resembling compassion crossed Arianrhod’s features and it was she who spoke next.  “Mayhap we should elaborate further?”  
  
Ceridwen cut her off.  “She needs no further explanation.”  She leaned down, like Gwyn had, so that her face was level with Willow’s newly pale visage.  “She understands fully.”  
  
Willow didn’t back down from the goddess’ stare.  Through clenched teeth, she nearly snarled out, “I am still here, you know.”  
  
“Oh, we know.”  Ceridwen rose to her feet, dismissing Willow.  “You _are_ still here; why is that, Gwyn?”  
  
Gwyn huffed out a breath, his gaze moving from the two females to the other male.  “Gwydion.”  
  
The other male stepped forward, responding to the unspoken questions swirling in the hall.  His dark eyes flared with strange lights and for the first time since she’d woken up in this otherworldly place, Willow felt a frisson of fear.  
  
His voice, though spoken in a bare whisper, sent shivers racing over Willow’s tense muscles, and as he spoke, the full burden of her actions began to weigh upon her.    
  
“It was not so much what you attempted, Red Willow, so much as why and how you did it. It is conceded that the Chosen One’s final time had not yet come, though it was not for you to return her.  That task was for another. . .”   He sighed.  Clasping his hands behind his back, he began taking slow, measured steps around her kneeling form.  “Your arrogance knows no bounds, and you were told by the Watcher what consequences there would be.  You ignored him.  Ignored too, the warnings of others.   Your arrogance . . .”  
  
An inelegant snort came from his companion and Ceridwen shook her head.  “She is not listening.  She is playing you for a fool, Gwydion.  Why do you persist in coddling this child?”  Ceridwen’s temper was fraying by the moment and her fingers were itching with the need to forcefully drive home to the former redheaded girl exactly how short her temper was.  “Enough of this!  Have done with _it_ and _her_.”  
  
Gwydion lifted his eyes to the blond goddess, who transformed herself into an old, ragged, hideously ugly woman.  “It is time and beyond that you _have done_ with this.”  A grimace heightened the ugliness.  “And if _you_ will not, I am more than happy to.”  
  
A imperious hand from the dark god forestalled her next comments.  “Art bloodthirsty.”    
  
She huffed out, “With good reason.  This one is not worth more of our time.  Punishment has been dealt.  Have _done_ with it already!”  
  
The two stared at each other for long moments, the others waiting for the battle of wills to end.  Finally, Ceridwen returned to her former appearance, triumph sparkling in her eyes, while Gwydion let resignation flood his features.    
  
“Geas is laid upon you, Red Willow, for your actions and thoughtless need to control aught around you.”  She started to speak, though a raised finger from Gwydion bound her to silence.  “You will listen, for I shall only say this once more.  I am done with this and you.”  He caught the smirk on Ceridwen’s face and instantly thought better of softening his punishment.  
  
“No magic will you ever perform, no spells, nor cantrips.  No mind tricks, no power will surge through your veins.  No release from this will happen, until all is settled with those you sought to control.”  His voice rang out, echoing through the almost empty hall.  “Should you seek to regain that which does not belong to you, upon you shall be visited the full effect of your folly.   Suffer you will.”  
  
“Seek not assistance from others, Red Willow, for such will be your downfall.  Eternity to wander, lost and unfriended, your sins your only companions.”  Ceridwen took up the litany, her voice silky with contempt.  “Look not to others of your kind for aid, for none will shelter you, no help forthcoming.  Outcast, alone. . .  This is your fate.”  The goddess leaned down, her blond hair falling like rain onto Willow’s ghostly pale skin, eyes narrowed with anger.  “And do not think to look toward modern devices, either.  Try aught, little girl, and your life is forfeit, mine to do what I will.”  
  
Her smile morphed into something that resembled a vampire’s game face, and Willow cringed away, the depth of what was happening finally registering in her head.  She started shaking, and big, sad tears slid down her cheeks.  “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. . . I didn’t mean it.”  
  
“Auuggh!”  Ceridwen growled out her anger, her face morphing once more into something gnarled and disfigured.  “Come with me, you little she-bitch.”  
  
Wrapping her strong hand in the length of Willow’s hair, Ceridwen dragged her from her crouched position in front of Gwyn’s throne to the alcove housing the huge cauldron.  “ ** _Enough_** of this!  Art a willful, petulant child.  Have done with the lies to yourself and to others.  And most especially to _me_.”  Ceridwen whirled on her, shoving Willow’s face close to the cauldron’s shimmering surface.  “Watch what you have wrought.”  
  
Images of moments in Willow’s life rose to the surface, some of them dating back before Buffy’s arrival in Sunnydale, though most were since that time.  Everything was laid out before her eyes; her actions and their effects on others.  Things she hadn’t known, hadn’t realized, hadn’t _seen_. . .  hadn’t _wanted_ to see.  Or understand.  
  
Everything she’d done, every selfish action she’d taken to preserve what she thought best – not what actually was best – was laid bare.  Ceridwen spared neither thought nor care for her own emotions, her hand holding Willow’s head still so she couldn’t escape any of the images.    
  
“ _This_ is what your arrogance has wrought.  What _you_ have done, Willow.  Your fault.”  When Willow tried looking away, Ceridwen tightened her hold.  “Do not hide from what you have done.  Far better you admit it, learn from your misguided actions.  You are _not_ the ultimate authority. . . you are not a God, Willow, though you tried.”  
  
Derisive laughter filled the alcove when Willow’s tears plopped into the cauldron.  “Oh, _how_ you tried. . . be thankful all we have done is strip your abilities from you.  It could have gone far worse for you. . . far, _far_ worse.”  
                              
The last of the images faded away and Ceridwen released her hold.  Willow slumped to her knees, a sniveling, weeping mess, unable to fight the truth any longer.  “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”  
  
Ceridwen’s smile was a feral, fearful thing to see, a terrible, savage beauty.  “Aye, so you should be.”  Willow looked up.  “And you _will_ be for a very, very long time to come.”  
  
Shifting her glance to the others, Ceridwen stalked away from the alcove.  “Send her back.  It is time she reaped the fruits of her labors.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Oz woke slowly, the scent of incense and something musky the first thing to register in his senses.  The bed beneath him was soft, the covers fine cotton and patchwork colors.  His eyes opened slowly and he stretched, his hands tangling in the dark blond tresses covering his face, chest and hands.  His full body stretch brought him into closer contact with the soft curves of the body next to him and Oz smiled lazily.  He had no idea of the time, but he knew intimately where he was – his favorite place in the world.  
  
Being in this room – Tara’s bedroom – reminded him of his time in the Tibetan monastery.  The deep peace invoked by the smells and colors surrounding him eased something knotted up inside him, something that yearned and howled with the chaos that always surged within him.  He leaned into her back, his arms stealing around her, holding her close against his chest.    
  
Lately, every time they ended up sharing sleeping space, this was how their morning started.  One of them would be wrapped around the other, arms and legs entangled, her hair covering them both in a soft curtain.  She unconsciously wiggled closer and his body reacted instantly. His hips shifted forward almost involuntarily and Oz pressed closer to Tara, his breath wafting across her shoulder.  
  
After long moments basking in her nearness, he reluctantly moved away from her, rolling flat onto his back.  Flashes of intense images whirled through his mind, the events of the day before scrolling through his thoughts.  He remembered the fighting, remembered the dark-skinned vampire he’d killed, and then being attacked by a small female vampire who was far stronger than she looked.  And then there was blankness, the red haze filtering what had happened through the actions of the wolf, giving him a moment of pause.   Those memories were always dark, dim, like something seen through another’s eyes, which he supposed in some small way, they were.  He and the wolf co-existed, inhabiting the same body, yet not the same mind.    
  
Wolf was wild emotion, feral, ferocious and reactive, non-thinking.  It operated purely on instinct, following its emotions, which didn’t always coincide with his and therein lay the need to exert some form of control over the beast.  His bones ached, he realized belatedly, the muscles of his jaw and shoulders tense and strained from the change.  He always felt like this after a fight, every bone and muscle stretched and realigned twice, and it was always worse when the change wasn’t due to the moon-pull.    
  
Tara rolled over, her arm sliding across his chest and Oz didn’t fight the smile her unconscious actions caused.  Her hips angled toward him and one leg slid over his.    
  
His erection strained against the cotton of his sleep pants and Oz knew he had to get up soon, otherwise he’d embarrass both of them.  Tara was affectionate, sometimes loving, though he knew without a doubt that she wasn’t physically attracted to him.  But he and wolf didn’t care.  It didn’t matter that she wasn’t ogling him the way Buffy ogled Spike – for him sex and love weren’t about hot wild sex.  He’d had it a time or two, but it wasn’t what he really wanted.    
                                  
To him love was more about comfort and home, everything Tara was coming to represent, rather than about hot, rabid sex.  Sex like that – especially when it was wolf calling to wolf – wasn’t meant to last.  And Oz the person wasn’t built that way.  He needed the comfort and security someone like Tara just naturally exuded.  
  
He wanted her, he wasn’t about to deny that to himself or even to her if the conversation ever took place.  But he wasn’t going to force her or push her.   
  
And that was why, after lightly brushing a kiss on her arm, Oz gingerly slipped from her bed, heading straight for the shower.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The sounds of low murmuring voices and crockery being moved around roused Wesley from his sleep.  That and the dead weight his left arm had become.  He shifted, stretching and loosening up overly stiff muscles, feeling the effects of too much physical exertion in one day.  His right side was sore and cramping calf muscles had him jack-knifing into a sitting position before he was full awake.  
  
Unlike some people, Wesley never suffered from disorientation when he made the transition from sleep to wakefulness, though his body never seemed to keep pace with his mind.  He was paying for that trait now, the morning after one of the toughest battles he’d ever fought.   Stretching out his legs Wesley immediately regretted that decision, because instead of easing the cramps, they worsened.  Hunched over and trying not to groan, he got to his feet, hoping that walking would ease the pains.  That was when he realized his arm was dead weight, the pins and needles of resumed blood flow harpooning sharp little pains the length of his appendage.    
  
His legs gave, and he barely caught himself from landing face down on Dawn, who was blissfully unaware of his currently ungainly and graceless appearance.  _That’s it, you prat, smother the girl with your incredibly awkward flop onto her sleeping form.  Good show, mate.  Oh, good lord, now I’m sounding like Spike in my thoughts._ Wesley limped over to the Christmas tree, smiling a little at the silent reminder that this was still the season to give thanks. _Maybe we’ve gotten more than one Christmas miracle?_ _We all managed to somehow, miraculously survive.  And without too many casualties._  
  
Turning round to pace back to the couch, Wesley dared a look at the plastic and mesh contraption they were calling a Pack ‘n Play.  To him it looked more like a truncated and flimsy baby cot, hardly safe for anyone’s child, much less a preternaturally strong one.  There had been no word from Spike and Lawson, though in truth none of them had expected any communication.  It still worried him.  _They’ve been gone. . ._ Wesley glanced down at his watch, slightly surprised that the time read after two.    _So, they’ve been gone about ten hours, I wonder how Spike’s managing. . .  
_  
Though he’d tried hiding it, Spike had been injured in the battle.  Not seriously, and not enough to stop him from going after Connor, but enough that it might slow him down if something were to happen while they were retrieving the baby.  Spike had hidden the sword cut, not letting Buffy see the damage.  Wesley stretched again, working out some of the kinks, his mind focusing on Spike.  He didn’t appear too affected by the injury, and if Wesley hadn’t seen the blow himself, he wouldn’t have even noticed.  _Perhaps it’s all the Slayer blood he’s been ingesting. . ._  
  
Neither he nor Rupert fooled themselves into thinking the vampire didn’t indulge, though with the baby on the way, perhaps they’d toned things down. _And really, Wesley, why are you thinking of Spike’s sexual practices?_   Shaking his head and forcefully refocusing his thoughts, Wesley continued pacing through the living room.    
  
 _Well, you git, you’re better off thinking of Spike than Dawn._ At least thoughts of Spike wouldn’t land him in jail.    
 _  
_Or dead.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The afternoon sunlight made the room hot and Giles rolled over, unconsciously pushing the covers down around his hips.  His legs and hands encountered something soft and sweet smelling.  He moved closer, his arms reached around to enfold the form closer, one hand curling around the soft breast of his companion.  Something tickled at his nose and  neck, and he shifted, moving away from the annoyance, only to have it shift and move with him.  There was a rustling beside him, then a soft exhalation of air, smacking of lips and a breathy little moan.  The breast in his hand swayed and his fingers brushed over a hardened nipple at the same instant a hand stole awkwardly around his hip, pulling their bodies closer together.  
  
He realized, a split second before he thumbed her nipple and ground his erection against her buttocks, that it was Anya in his arms.   
  
_Oh, bloody hell. . ._  
  
At a complete loss as to how to extricate himself from this completely awkward predicament, Rupert hesitated a heartbeat too long.  Anya wriggled her hips, another breathy moan escaped her and he tightened his hold on her breast.  His name sounded from her, the noise doing nothing to help his tenuous grip on his self-control.  Once more she wriggled and Rupert growled low in his throat and wormed his other hand down around her hip.    
  
Anya smiled, her eyes opening slowly.  She could feel the effect she was having on him; it was blatantly obvious.  She was very glad she slept without panties all the time, and equally glad she’d borrowed – without Buffy’s knowledge of course – one of the Slayer’s nightgowns.  It was tight and sleek in all the right places, and thankfully, it had ridden up during the night, so that it barely covered her bottom half.  
  
And though she’d meant what she’d said earlier about them having sex that didn’t mean they couldn’t give each other mutually agreeable orgasms.  _There isn’t a better way to wake up in the morning, and it’ll give him something to think about.  Screw what I said earlier._  
  
His fingers snagged on the lace lining the bottom of the nightgown and Anya slowly angled her hips so that the very tips of his fingers brushed over her bare upper thighs.  She was careful not to change her breathing and thought she had him fooled until he pulled her back, trapping his erection between them, whispering deeply in her ear.  
  
“I know you must be awake, my dear.”  
  
A half-giggle rang from her and she undulated against his body, her hand reaching up to cover his.  She tugged on her own nipple, which he found incredibly arousing, and gasped a bit when his fingers joined hers.  “Why must I be?  This is so much nicer, don’t you think?”  
  
Giles didn’t bother to answer, merely humming his answer softly into her ear.  Anya couldn’t help her body’s reaction, gasping a bit when he bit down gently on her shoulder.  
  
“You are a _very_ naughty girl.  I thought you agreed we wouldn’t do this until I was – _how_ did you put it?  Oh, right. . . I remember now, ‘When I’m not exhausted and injured’.”  
  
“You don’t feel very exhausted.”  Anya somehow managed to slip her hand between them and she squeezed his erection.  “In fact, I’d say you feel a bit invigorated.”  
  
“God, woman.  Do that again.”  He arched into her hand as Anya rippled her tight fingers around his prick.  
  
Anya let go, rolling over to face him and Giles found himself with a handful of her delicious rear, his fingers connecting with completely bare skin.  “No knickers?”  
  
“Why bother with them?”  She slid her hand down beneath his boxers, her hand grasping his thick erection. “Rupert, you have a very nice penis.  Very nice.”  
  
His laugh was low and in retaliation, she squeezed him.  Hard.  “Don’t laugh at me.”  
  
“Dear God, I’m not laughing at you.  I almost said you have a nice one also.”    
  
A half a second later she was laughing and her grip around him loosened.  His hips arched toward her and she swiped her thumb over his slit.  “How would you know if I’ve got a very nice anything?  You haven’t touched me yet.”  
  
“A situation I’m about to remedy, my dear.”  His fingers slid around the smooth cheeks of her rear, slipping between her thighs and dipping delicately into the folds of her sex.  Anya responded by bucking her hips, then sliding her leg up and over his hip.    
  
“Rupert, you haven’t kissed me either.”  
  
“How remiss of me.”  He angled his head, his mouth opening slightly to cover hers in a soft, nipping kiss.  Giles eased back, a twinkle in his eyes as he said, “You shall have to take me to task for it.”  
  
“Later, Giles.  Just kiss me again.”  Anya slid her hip up further, thrusting into his hand as he pushed two fingers in and out of her core.  Their mouths met again, tongues curling together as they deepened the kiss.  Her fingers hooked around the edges of his boxers and pulled.  Rupert rolled onto his back, lifting her up as he did, and Anya gripped his thick cock, sliding down easily.  “Oh . . . _oh_.  Yes, Rupert, a very, _very_ nice penis.”  
  
The worry of where they were and exactly what they were doing crossed his mind, but it fled completely when Anya ground down, clenching her vaginal walls around his pulsing erection.  His hands circled around her hips, guiding her actions.  Anya’s movements were almost frantic, as if she had to hurry and get to her orgasm before . . .  Giles raised himself up on his elbows, stilling the thrusting motion of his hips.  “Anya, it’s not a race.  We have time to enjoy this.”  
  
She slumped a bit, resting her head on his shoulder, her hands clutching tightly around his arms.  “Rupert,” she whimpered.  
  
“Sshhhh.  Slow down, dear girl, I’ll take care of you.”    
  
He rolled them over and proceeded to do just that.    
  
Twice.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
This time, when the swirling rainbow appeared in the middle of the street, little Zoe Graverman called out to her mother, who in turn yelled for her husband.  People popped out of their houses all over the block, watching the lights twinkle and sparkle in front of the Summers house, oohing and aahing at the sight before them.  
  
Except for those living in 1630 Revello Drive, everyone was out on the street.  
  
It wasn’t until a subsonic boom reverberated in the air that the front door opened and one of the girls stuck her head out.  In an instant, the door swung wide and with a shout over her shoulder, one of the blonds came outside.  
  
Zoe was pointing at the lights when Buffy followed Tara outside with Faith, Giles, Wesley, and disheveled looking Anya trailing after her.  The Slayer’s eyes were fixed on the lights and she held her breath, clutching at Wesley’s forearm.  He winced and she caught the expression from the corner of her eyes and forced herself to let go.  “Sorry, Wes.”  
  
“It’s all right.  Is this . . ?”  
  
“Oh, I hope so.  I really, really hope so.”  The noise echoed again, and Buffy swore she could almost see the sound waves as they rolled down the street.    
  
They drifted out to the street, everyone speaking at once in hushed tones.  Oz stood in front of Tara, while Anya slipped her hand into Giles’.  Faith edged away from Buffy, leaving them room to maneuver if this wasn’t what Buffy was hoping for.  A third boom shook the houses and a half second later, the light flared so brightly there was nothing but flashing lights that nearly blinded all of them.  
  
For long minutes everyone stood still, blinking hard and fighting protective tears.  Buffy had covered her eyes with her hands, flinching away from the light.  Her ears were still ringing.  
  
Her vision finally cleared and there, standing in front of her, somehow protected from the late afternoon sunlight, was Spike.    
  
A grin stretched across his face, his eyes sparkling with mirth as he quipped, “Hello, cutie.”  
  
The giggle escaped before she could stop it.  “Hello, yourself.”  
  
Giggles turned to outright laughter when he swooped in to lift her easily in his arms.    
  
“Miss me?”  
  
“Ahuh.”  She sobered then, tugging on his hair, pulling him away from where his head rested between her breasts.  “Where’s Connor? Did you find him?”  
  
He dropped her back down onto her feet, then stepped back.  “About that, kitten.”  He half turned away, motioning someone forward.    
  
A figure stepped out of the light, standing next to Spike.  Buffy glanced at Spike, a question in her eyes, and he nodded at the shadowy form.    
  
“Spike?”  
  
The boy was smiling at her.  That much she could tell, but she couldn’t see his features clearly, only that he had dark hair and was nearly as tall as Spike.  He was thin, too, and wiry.  And he had something faded and bluish in color clutched in his hand.  Buffy looked at him one more time and her mouth opened a bit.     
  
 _No. . ._  
  
“Hi, Mom.”  
  
  
  
   
  
    



	77. Rarest Vintage

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 77. Rarest Vintage  
  
Three grand essentials to happiness in this life   
are something to do,   
something to love,   
and something to hope for.   
    Joseph Addison  
  
Cherish all your happy moments:   
they make a fine cushion for old age.  
    Christopher Morley  
  
We tend to forget that happiness   
doesn't come as a result of getting   
something we don't have,   
but rather of recognizing and   
appreciating what we do have.  
    Frederick Keonig  
  
Happiness is a wine of the rarest vintage,   
and seems insipid to a vulgar taste.   
    Logan Pearsall Smith, Life and Human Nature, Afterthoughts_**  
  
  
  
The chorus of voices babbling behind her receded the longer she looked at the teenager standing in front of her.  Buffy shifted her gaze to Spike, who was eyeing her with his head tilted to the side, his eyes sparkling with blue and gold lights in the late afternoon sunshine.  It struck her then, more than his appearance had moments ago, and she blinked, staring at him.    
  
He was standing in direct sunlight.  And not burning.  
  
A shriek caught in her throat and she lunged at him, pushing him onto the porch and through the doorway, plowing through the others like a front lineman for the Forty-Niners intent on protecting Joe Montana.  
  
Spike landed on his ass in the front hallway with Buffy draped over him and the others all looking down at the pair of them, mouths gaped wide and startled looks in their eyes.    
  
“Lawson!”  And Buffy was up, yanking the other vampire in by his shirt collar and dumping him on the floor beside Spike.    She stood there, panting heavily, wild eyes staring at the both of them.  
  
“Buffy?”  
  
It was Faith’s voice that pulled her out of the daze she was in, and Buffy shook her whole body, as she looked over at her counterpart.    “Yeah?”  
  
“You okay?”    
  
“Yeah.”  Buffy turned, staring at the shadowed figure of Connor.  He was standing just outside the doorway, the small scrap of blanket clutched in his hand, and she walked toward him, tears suddenly flooding her eyes.  “Connor?”  
  
He ducked his head, afraid to look at her, afraid to meet any of their eyes.  There hadn’t been time to explain during the return, nor an opportunity, not that he even had a clear one.  He’d missed them so much, crying in his sleep as a little boy, holding onto the blanket when everything else was gone, disintegrated into dust.  Dreams had filled his nights, dreams of home and love.  He’d seen too, in Ceridwen’s cauldron, what had occurred before he’d been snatched away from them; had seen how they cared about him.  Darla – his mother  – had also visited him in his dreams, explaining everything.    
  
But now, faced with the reality of being back, with the only people he considered family, he was overwhelmed.    
  
Then she was standing in front of him, her hand outstretched to reach for him.  She touched his arm, her grip firm and tight around his wrist.  Connor blinked, gazing at her from lowered lashes.  Her expression – wariness competing with the maternal instinct to gather him close and hug him to pieces –  gave him a moment to answer her.    
  
“Hi.”  
  
A watery laugh escaped her and she caught his eye.  With a smile and a whispered “Welcome home”, Buffy drew him into her arms and hugged him tight.    
  
When he didn’t flinch or pull away, she tightened her hold on him.   “We missed you.”  
  
“I missed you too, Mom.”  
  
And just like that, Buffy knew it was going to be okay.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Just blocks away, roughly about the same time Buffy was tackling Spike to the hallway floor, a darker light flared across the lawns and driveways of this particular section of Sunnydale.  
  
Instead of drawing attention, this light; dark, swirling vortices of moss green, black, murky brown, mixed with deepest blue obscured the waning natural sunlight and forced eyes and attention away.  There was something heavy and ominous about the light flooding this particular street; something unsettling and disturbing.    
  
All noise ceased and the rolling thunder from a few blocks away was a distant, barely heard thrum of sound vibrating the ground.  In the absence of sound, with vision obscured by that hellish light, a soft form emerged, slumping to the ground.    
  
Unlike the easy transitions of the others, Willow’s was less than gentle.  Her insides felt shredded, nausea roiling in her empty belly.  Pain surged in her wobbly legs and shards of agony pushed against her skull.  Willow clutched her hands to her belly, fighting the urge to vomit the meager contents of her stomach onto the grass beside her head.    
  
With shaky hands devoid of anything resembling strength, she forced her upper body away from the ground, turning haunted pale eyes toward the dark lights swirling over her head.  A grimace of heart-stopping pain wracked her slim form and Willow couldn’t fight her body’s need to purge.  Bile spewed from her mouth, covering the ground and curling the grass beneath her hands.  Tears welled in her eyes and the full force of what she’d done – and the grimness of her future – finally registered in her psyche and Willow collapsed on her back.    
 _  
Oh, Gods, what have I done?  What?_ Closing her sightless eyes against the deepening shadows surrounding her, Willow sought some vestiges of the person she’d once been.  _I’m nothing.  I’m . . .   I’ve hurt the people I said I loved, because I couldn’t deal. . ._  
  
Willow curled onto her side, dropped her head into her hands and wept.  
  
      
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Dawn stirred on the couch, the voices of everyone babbling at once in the hallway reaching into her drugged sleep and rousing her to wakefulness.  Her eyes fluttered once, then a second time when the party swept from the hallway into the living room.  She fought  to make sense of the blurry images her brain couldn’t quite sort out.    
  
Spike was the first to sense her swim toward consciousness and he dropped down to the floor, his hand cupping her cheek, thumb gently brushing over her bruises.    
  
“Hey there, platelet.  How’re you feeling?”  Concern was clear in his eyes, and he motioned the others out of the room and then to silence when that seemed to fail.  “You with me?”  
  
Her throat was dry and her voice a scratchy husk, barely more than a whisper.  “Hey.  You’re home?”  
  
“No, bit, I’m still off in the wilds.”  His eyes twinkled at her and Dawn raised a weak hand to punch at his chest.  
  
“Wanker.”   The word sounded so funny coming from her that he laughed outright.  
  
“Tha’s my girl.”  He brushed a hand over her tangled hair, gently squeezing her shoulder.  “You wanna try an’ sit up?”  
  
“Yeah.”  The air around them was quiet, everyone watching as Spike helped Dawn to a sitting position.  She refused to meet anyone’s eyes, even Buffy’s when she moved to sit beside her, her smaller body fitting neatly between Dawn and the couch arm.  Her actions of the past few days swirled in her sluggish thoughts and Dawn couldn’t – didn’t want to – see the pity she was sure the others would be displaying.    
  
“Is there anything I can get you?”  Buffy’s voice was low and she took Dawn’s hand in hers.  Spike’s hand covered both of theirs.  Dawn felt tears beginning to well up and she sniffled.    
  
“Nope.”  She glanced up, quickly scanning the room.  There were pockets of conversation going on, hardly anyone was paying attention to the three of them except for the guy she didn’t recognize looking back at her.  “Who’s that?”  
  
“Dawnie. . . that’s. . . that’s. . . ”    Buffy and Spike shared a look and Dawn’s brain finally kicked in.    
  
“Connor?”  He smiled shyly, ducking his head.  Her muted squeal brought his head up sharply and he blushed darkly.  “Holy shit!”  
  
She struggled to get up, grimacing in pain when her body protested the movement.  Taking note of her scramble, Spike held her still and motioned to Connor with his other hand.  “C’mon, sprog.  ‘M thinkin’ she’s lookin’ for a hug.”  
  
“You’re not wrong.” Dawn muttered and held out her hand to Connor.  “So that’s why only a dead man could go.”  
  
“Guess so, Dawnie.  It explains a lot.”  Buffy linked her fingers with Spike’s as the two teens sized each other up.  “You’re okay with this?”  
  
“Well, it’s normal, right?  In the freaky hellmouthy way of our lives.  It’s cool.”  Dawn shrugged off the weirdness, as if it were nothing more than just an ordinary day, and Buffy realized, in that instant, this was normal.  All sorts of weird things happening daily _was_ normal for her.  And her family.  
  
Her laugh was infectious and she surged off the couch into Spike’s waiting arms.  “Yup.  Freaky is the new normal.”  
  
“Don’t worry, Connor, you’ll get used to the weirdness.”  Dawn smiled at him and Connor felt something tight around his heart loosen.  
  
“I think I get that.”  He smiled crookedly back at her, feeling a little more comfortable.  He looked up in time to see Buffy kissing Spike.  A smile broke out on his face and he shook his head.  “Are they always like that?”  
  
“Dude, you have no idea.”  
  
His gaze swung back to Dawn and in the way of teenagers everywhere, they shared a look of exasperation with their elders and laughed.  
  
It was good to be home again.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
In the hours between sunrise and sundown, Jenner hadn’t gotten any sleep or rest at all.  He’d paced, moving from room to room in the small hotel.  He’d barked orders at the vampires with him, getting them ready to leave the hellmouth.  He’d done everything he could think of to keep his mind off the one thing he couldn’t do.  
  
He couldn’t go after Faith.  
  
The itch to do so burned along his nerves, making them thrum and hum with barely leashed desire.  Watching the hands tick slowly on the clocks in the hotel, feeling the slow slide of the sun in the sky, cursing his lack of foresight.  Passing regret for untying the girl flashed through him, yet the delicious thrill of anticipation kept his nerves on the edge of a knife.  
  
Three hundred odd years he’d walked the earth.  He’d been in some pretty interesting predicaments, seen some very strange things, done even stranger, but nothing had prepared him for this yearning.  Even his love for Susanna hadn’t felt like this, this burning, aching itch.  Not even the farce of what he’d first felt for Darla.  _This was . . ._  
  
If this is what William felt every time he was near the Slayer, it was a wonder he’d kept his sanity.    
  
He’d barely sunk his fangs into Faith’s silky flesh and he already felt her everywhere, sensed her at the edges of his awareness, haunting him with her presence.  
  
No wonder William chased slayers. . .   
  
They were delicious, intoxicating, riveting. . .  dangerous.  
  
Once a somewhat cautious man, that trait had carried over after his turning.  He had slowly, methodically built an empire that hadn’t crumbled over time, even under the noses of the Council of Watchers.  In all the years of his existence, they hadn’t been able to penetrate his defenses.  That caution had led him to pick his minions and childer with a care most other vampires didn’t exercise.  It had saved him on more than one occasion.  His impulsive decision to journey to the Hellmouth had been based more in a need to get even with either Angelus or William than anything else had been completely uncharacteristic.    
  
At the time, he hadn’t questioned it, not completely.  Though now, waiting for the sun to recede, he wondered if the pull of the two Slayers had been part of it.  He knew they were sirens, calling vampires to their doom; he just hadn’t imagined it would be this strong a pull.  
  
Or maybe it wasn’t the fact these two were slayers.  Maybe it was just Faith and Buffy themselves.    
William certainly wouldn’t have taken the girl and left her alive if there wasn’t some other tug on his emotions – something other than this constant, distracting hum.  
  
Jenner moved toward the stairs, finding himself suddenly at the bottom, pacing the lobby before his brain registered that he’d even left his room.  The shadows lengthened, night creeping in on slow hands and he growled, cursing the sunlight.  
  
He wasn’t going to wait any longer.  The sun had slipped far enough to the west.    
  
Pushing open the door, Jenner inhaled deeply, his nose scenting out Faith’s heady aroma easily. A wicked thought crossed his mind and a feral grin stretched across his broad face.  
  
 _I’m coming, Faith. . . and I’m not stopping until I have you._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The atmosphere in the house had taken on the air of a spontaneous party.  Wesley and Giles headed out to the liquor store for supplies while Oz took Tara and Anya to the supermarket for more substantial fare.  Faith had cleared out, though only as far as the back yard, leaving the newly reunited family group alone.    
  
Spike had moved to the big armchair, and Buffy promptly ensconced herself on his lap, his arm curling around her waist.  His eyes watched the two teens, as they warily got acquainted.    
  
Buffy leaned into Spike’s embrace, her head resting on his shoulder.  Like him, her eyes were centered on the teens; unlike him, she wasn’t listening to their conversation.  Instead, Buffy was focusing on their features.  Her fingers meshed with Spike’s and she whispered softly, almost idly, “He doesn’t look like him.”  
  
“Mmmmm.  No, looks more like his. . . like Darla.”  He hadn’t wanted to call Darla his mother, though she had done more for the boy than his father ever had.  
  
She didn’t bother correcting him.  “He’s tall, though.”  
  
Spike’s shrug was something so slight Buffy didn’t think he’d even really moved at all.  “Gets that much from Peaches.”  
  
She looked closer and nodded, silently conceding Spike’s pointed observation.  “Do you know how long it was for him?”  
  
He considered this for long minutes, calculating in his head the amount of time.  “Longer than it was for either of us.  ‘M thinkin’ he’s ‘bout the same age as ‘Bit is.”  
  
“Great.  Two hormone bombs.  Just what we needed.”  There was a hint of something sounding a lot like regret in her voice and Spike angled his head a little.  Even with his change in position, he couldn’t really see her expression.  
  
“Buffy?”  
  
She shook her head, hoping to avoid his probing gaze.  When that didn’t work, her voice dropped even lower.  “I kinda miss baby Connor.”  
  
His hand stretched across her belly, his thumb running over the still smooth planes.  “Got one of our own comin’ soon enough.”  
  
“So we do.”  She snuggled closer, her hand covering his.  
  
Connor’s head lifted in response to something Dawn had said, and he caught the tail end of their conversation.  A strange look passed across his face, though none of the others noticed.  He smiled, shook his head and answered Dawn.  “They called me the Destroyer, but I’m not really sure what they meant by that.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
The antiseptic smell and almost noiseless corridors used to bother him, setting his nerves on edge and tickling his nose with the cleanliness.  Now though, after spending hours at her bedside, those things didn’t even give him a moment’s pause.    
  
Gunn watched the shallow rise and fall of the girl he’d come to consider the strongest person he’d ever met.  Cordelia Chase refused to surrender, refused to die and refused to lie there and still be a victim.  When he thought about the two women – Fred and Cordelia – he was constantly amazed by their strengths.  Neither one of them looked formidable, neither one looked like they could withstand some of the things they’d had happen to them.  Fred was rail-thin, all long coltish limbs and delicate grace, while Cordelia had the look of someone who hadn’t had to do much work – beyond looking damn gorgeous – her whole life.  
  
And yet they’d survived events that would have driven men to their knees.  
  
Most of the small cuts and even some of the larger ones on Cordelia’s skin had healed, and all the bruises were yellowed with age.  She’d been awake more in the last two days, though he’d begun to loose count of how long they’d been sitting at her side, waiting for something . . . any sign of renewed sense.  Because though she’d been awake, Cordelia had been far from communicative.    
  
She refused to speak.  Wouldn’t talk to the doctors or nurses beyond a response to how she was feeling, wouldn’t respond to Fred.  And she barely even looked at him.  
  
Gunn didn’t want to push the issue, knowing how stubborn she could be, and knowing too, that what Angelus had done to her wasn’t just physical in nature.  The doctors had told them as much as they were permitted to about the injuries Cordelia had sustained.  He didn’t know for certain, but he and Fred figured she’d been raped numerous times, though the doctors wouldn’t confirm so.  
  
He watched her now.  Her dark eyes were fixed on the television, and it was clear she wasn’t paying any attention, because Fred had switched on old re-runs of Family Ties and Cordelia wasn’t even smiling.  One of her doctors had been in earlier and the usual questions had been asked and answered.  Those were the only words Cordelia had uttered since she woke up.  Gunn shifted and Cordelia flinched, moving closer to opposite side of the bed.  Before he could say something and leave the room, the door swung open and Xander Harris slid in, a bouquet of wild flowers clutched in his hands.  
  
“Hey.”  His greeting was subdued, his eyes averted from the sight of his former girlfriend.  “How’s everyone today?”  
  
Fred greeted him warmly, hugging him and grabbing the flowers at the same time.  Gunn extended his hand, but neither man said anything while Fred bustled about, putting the flowers in a vase and making idle chatter to hopefully spark some response from Cordelia.    
  
Xander sat down next to him, his eyes darting about the room, finally resting on the television screen.  It was clear by his agitated state that something was weighing on Xander’s mind, and Gunn wondered if he would give it up, confiding in them.  They’d become something resembling friends, though he wasn’t sure the brunet realized it.  Spending hours watching over Cordelia had forged a bond of sorts, despite the fact they never really engaged in idle chatter.    
  
For long minutes, Xander watched the antics of the Keaton family, trying to come up with something to say.   It wasn’t until Fred had stopped babbling and stood still, staring at Cordelia, that the two men realized the seer had spoken.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
It was all she said.    
  
All she needed to say.  
  
Gunn breathed deeply, the first time he’d done so in weeks and he ducked his head when he realized Xander was sitting quietly next to him, fighting tears.  
  
 _Cordy just might pull through._  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Feeling something like a fifth wheel, and unsure whether that was a welcomed wheel, Faith headed out to the back yard, leaving Buffy and Spike alone with the two teenagers.  She’d managed, through most of the day, to put aside thoughts of the other vampire.  It hadn’t been easy, but every time she found her mind straying toward the topic of Jenner, Faith immersed herself in something else.    
  
Bonding with both Summers girls had been a welcome surprise.  She hadn’t expected that at all.  Dawn was a puzzle, and she knew there was more to her story than she’d been told.  Faith remembered her being a bratty kid the first time she’d been in Sunnydale, though something in her Slayer dreams had indicated that wasn’t really the whole truth about Dawn.    
  
She’d only been free for a couple of days and Faith knew it was only a matter of time before the State came looking for their escapee.  _Gonna have to make a move soon.  Dunno if I can stay here, waiting for them to find me._ Faith stared off into the bushes, her mind a million miles away.  
  
There was no doubt in her mind that she and Buffy had reached some sort of truce, some understanding.  A lot of it had to do with the time she’d spent in prison.  Doing hard time had changed her, hardening her in some ways while it softened her in others.  Having an unlimited amount of time to come to terms with her actions and the reactions of others had tempered her control issues.  Faith knew now why she’d sided with the Mayor, why she’d hurt Wesley, why she’d done a lot of things.  Her perspective had changed, and while she knew some changes had been made, there was still a long way to go before she completely conquered her own demons.    
  
Her welcome back into Sunnydale had been unexpectedly warm.  While none of them had open arms and been willing to throw her a party, it hadn’t been with weapons drawn either – although with Buffy, it might have come close.  However, between one night and the next, tension had eased considerably and everyone had relaxed.  Having bigger enemies to worry about took the pressure off, but now with those gone, Faith had no illusions about how long she’d be welcome or wanted.  
  
Unfortunately, Faith also knew she had nowhere else to go.    
  
Any options she had were limited.  She couldn’t get a real job because she was on the run from the authorities.  She also didn’t think her welcome in Sunnydale would last much longer, especially given how she had so little to contribute. _And,_ she thought, _there’s the issue of slaying.  Can I just run away from that again?  Do I wanna leave it behind?_  
  
Abusing her strength and power as a Slayer had been part of her fall from grace.  Now older, hopefully wiser, and a bit less likely to run off the rails, she was allowing herself a bit of guarded hope that this time she wouldn’t make the same mistakes.  Though she wasn’t sure where to put Jenner . . . _damn it.  I promised myself I wasn’t gonna think about him!  
  
Crap.  
_  
Faith’s foot started tapping on the stairs as she rubbed her hands over her jeans, trying vainly to push thoughts of Jenner aside.  Her eyes closed and her full lips pursed, flattening her dimples.  She was the picture of determination, though her heart was beating wildly in her chest and she could feel the arousal just the thought of Jenner invoked.  
  
Her hands were shaky, her breathing erratic, and Faith wasn’t at all surprised when she opened her eyes to see a dark shadow at the far end of the yard.  _Had to know the vamp wasn’t gonna just let you skip out on him._  
  
But when she got to her feet and walked closer, the shadow receded, and Faith wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it.  Whirling around, she stalked back to the porch, roughly pulling open the door and stomping inside.  _Damn vampire.  Making me all crazy and . . .  
_  
She could hear low voices from the living room and Faith headed there.  Buffy and the two teenagers were talking about Connor’s time away and Spike was nowhere to be seen.  Not wanting to get involved, Faith wandered back toward the kitchen, wondering where Spike was.  She could feel him, her Slayer-sense buzzing with awareness, so she knew he was still in the house.  
  
With her back toward the hallway, Faith rifled through the refrigerator, knowing she wasn’t going to find anything different – at least not until the others returned – she didn’t sense anything until Spike’s low voice reached her.   
  
“Faith.”  
  
“Yeah?”  She turned around to face him and stopped short at the look on his face.  “What?”  
  
“Someone’s here to see you.”  
  
“What?”  Instantly thinking it was the police, Faith paled and looked wildly toward the door.  “Stall them.”  
  
He looked at her quizzically, then chuckled.  “‘S not like that, pet.  ‘Somethin’ else.  Coppers haven’t picked up on your location this soon.”  
  
“So who’s here?”  
  
He laughed again and pointed toward the back door.  “Go see for yourself.”  
  
“No way.  I’m not going out there.”  She slammed the door to the refrigerator, moving to pass Spike in the hallway.    
  
“He’s just gonna wait outside all night.  Unless Buffy takes pity on the poor sod an’ invites him in.”  Spike’s eyes lit up with more laughter and she could hear the amused tone in his voice clearly.  
  
“So not funny, dude.”  Her eyes fixed on his.  “B wouldn’t do that, would she?”  
  
The chuckles turned to outright laughter and he shook his head.  “Never know.  She jus’ might surprise you.”  
  
Faith stared at Spike, disbelief flooding her body.  “She wouldn’t do that.  She’s not that crazy.”  
  
He was too busy trying to control his laughter.  “Never know, pet.  She’s done some right surprising things.”  
  
She slammed the door shut on the refrigerator.  Faith didn’t believe for one second Buffy would take a chance on another vampire, especially one that didn’t have any feelings for her, so she figured she was safe for a bit.  Until Spike reached behind her, opening the refrigerator.  When he turned around, he had two beers in his hand and he smirked at her.  “Jus’ gonna go keep a lonely man company, pet.”  
  
“What?”  
  
He chuckled again, that infuriating smirk back on his face.  “Gonna go talk to Jenner for a bit.”  
  
Spike walked through the hallway toward the front door, listening all the while to the mad thump of Faith’s heartbeat.


	78. Just like heaven

**_Book Two  
  
Chapter 78.   Just like heaven  
  
  
It's a little bit funny this feeling inside  
I'm not one of those who can easily hide  
I don't have much money but boy if I did  
I'd buy a big house where we both could live  
If I was a sculptor, but then again, no  
Or a man who makes potions in a traveling show  
I know it's not much but it's the best I can do  
My gift is my song and this one's for you  
And you can tell everybody this is your song  
It may be quite simple but now that it's done  
I hope you don't mind  
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words  
How wonderful life is while you're in the world  
I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss  
Well a few of the verses well they've got me quite cross  
But the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song  
It's for people like you that keep it turned on  
So excuse me forgetting but these things I do  
You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue  
Anyway the thing is what I really mean  
Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen  
    Elton John and Bernie Taupin, 1969  
  
Don't ask me  
What you know is true  
Don't have to tell you  
I love your precious heart  
I was standing  
You were there  
Two worlds collided  
And they could never tear us apart  
We could live  
For a thousand years  
But if I hurt you  
I'd make wine from your tears  
I told you  
That we could fly  
'Cause we all have wings  
But some of us don't know why  
I . . .  I was standing  
You were there  
Two worlds collided  
And they could never ever tear us apart  
    Michael Hutchence and Andrew Farriss, 1982  
  
  
Spinning on that dizzy edge   
I kissed her face and kissed her head   
And dreamed of all the different ways I had   
To make her glow   
"Why are you so far away?" she said   
"Why won't you ever know that I'm in love with you   
That I'm in love with you"   
You   
Soft and only   
You   
Lost and lonely   
You   
Strange as angels   
Dancing in the deepest oceans   
Twisting in the water   
You're just like a dream   
    one night on a clifftop a long time ago  
    R. Smith, Number 13, August 1992   
    Smith, Gallup, Thompson, Williams, & Tolhurst  
  
  
_**  
  
  
Jenner watched from the shadows while the others filed in with bags of groceries and other supplies.  He’d stepped away from the house, knowing none of them really trusted him, despite the show they’d put on earlier.  There was no blaming any of them either.  These people were supposed to be his enemies, and yet, strangely enough, it seemed none of them felt that way.  Not even the Watchers.  
  
The last one entered the house and he drifted toward the doorway, uncertain of his welcome.  He knew Faith was inside.  Could feel her, hear her heartbeat, smell her.  Jenner hovered between the big tree and the steps, wondering if he knocked if she’d come out, and then cursed his own reluctance to throw caution to the wind.  For a brief moment, he contemplated just standing where he was and re-enacting a scene from a movie, then thought better of it, dismissing the notion as far too melodramatic.    
  
He hesitated long enough for the door to open again.  This time, Spike stepped through the doorway, tossing an idle comment over his shoulder, then moving onto the porch.  The younger vampire looked at Jenner, laughing at his obvious discomfit.   
  
“Brought you a drink.”  Spike held out a bottle of Murphy’s Stout, offering it to the other vampire.  “Might be a while b’fore the chit comes out.”  
  
As if continuing a conversation from an earlier point, Jenner asked, “Are they always this stubborn?”  
  
A sharp bark of laughter emerged from Spike’s mouth, and he held the bottle of beer away from his lips as he answered.  “You’ve no idea, mate.”  
  
“Hell.”  Jenner took a long sip, his eyes straying to the door.  “Not sure I’ve your patience.”  
  
“Now, there you’re wrong.  According to my lady, ‘ve no patience at all.”  He sat down on the steps, motioning Jenner to do the same.  
  
“Is this why you chased slayers?”  His curiosity got the better of him and Jenner voiced the question that had been plaguing him the most.  
  
Spike heaved a sigh.  “Didn’t know bein’ with one was more fun than huntin’ ‘em.”  He paused, staring off into the night.  “Knew they called to me, in the blood, jus’ wasn’t sure why.  Not until Buffy, anyway.”  
  
The two lapsed into silence, lost in their own thoughts.  Spike was peeling the label on his bottle, his foot tapping quietly.  When the door opened behind them, he turned his head to face Jenner.  “Appears your girl isn’t as stubborn as mine.”  
  
Spike got to his feet as Faith opened the door, slipping past her on the way back into the house.    He thought for a moment about making a smart-assed remark, but one look at the expression in Faith’s eyes had him biting his tongue.  For once, he’d let it go.    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Jenner was on his feet, staring at Faith, uncertain what her first action would be.  He didn’t want this to be violent – contrary to what most of their interaction had been.  Not that he was thinking hearts and flowers, either, but he sensed something had shifted between them.  He knew she was apprehensive; her rapid heartbeat betrayed her outward calm.  For now, he would allow her to set the stage.  
  
His eyes were on her face, gauging her mood from the set of her mouth, her clenched jaw and rigid posture.  Somehow, they’d managed to unnerve each other, discovering truths they both would have preferred stay hidden.  Jenner didn’t need the complication of a relationship with a female that wasn’t a vampire, much less the additional confusion her being a slayer would bring.    
  
She leaned against one of the posts, her arms folded over her ample breasts.  “Why’d you come here?”    
  
“You know why.  I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you.”  Suddenly he was in no mood to play games with her.  He knew what he wanted.  Knew she wanted it, also.  
  
“Maybe I want things spelled out for me.”  Faith shifted, standing away from the column.  
  
“Don’t play games.  I’m here because I want you.  Because you ran away from me earlier.”  Jenner stepped closer, invading her space.  “Because I know you want me, too.”  
  
Faith threw up her hands, exasperation warring with defiance in her voice.  “Fine.  I want you.  It ain’t love.”  
  
“Who said I was asking for love?”  He stepped closer, inhaling deeply, almost sniffing her.  Jenner reached out to touch her and Faith leaned away from him.  “Why do you keep running?”  
  
Her answer when it came was so soft he nearly missed it.  “Because running’s easier.”  
  
Leaning in, Jenner ghosted his hand up and over her shoulder.  “Then let’s run together.”  
  
Faith tilted her chin, looking up at him.  He was so tall and broad that she couldn’t help feeling almost small and helpless beside him.  Yet she knew she wasn’t helpless, that if push came to shove she could take him.  A shiver broke over her skin as he breathed heavily against her neck and Faith gave in, surrendered to the ache pulsing through her blood.  She leaned up, wrapping her hands around his thick biceps and whispered into his ear, “Let’s do it.”  
  
His growling acceptance raised the hair on the back of her neck and Faith caught an answering moan before it escaped her.  Jenner grabbed her hip, pulling her close.  “Say goodnight to them, now, Faith.  We’re leaving.”  
  
“Already said.”  
  
“Good.”  Without saying anything further, Jenner swept her up, tossed her over his shoulder and carried her off.    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The house was quiet again, everyone gone to their respective homes or places to sleep.  Spike had carried Dawn up to bed and Buffy was making up the couch for Connor while the boy studied his surroundings.    
  
“I’m sorry about not having a place for you to sleep.”  
  
He looked at Buffy, confusion clearly written on his face.  “Um.  Why?”  
  
“You used to sleep in the room with me and Spike, in a crib.  I’m thinking you won’t exactly be comfy there and, well, we don’t really have any other room ready for sleeping.  My mom’s old room is full of paint and dust.  So, not really good for sleeping.  But the air mattress is there and well, if you wanted to we could set you up in there. . . ”  Buffy unfurled the sheet, glancing over at Connor when she’d finished.  “I’m babbling.”  
  
She sat down on the table, looking up at him.  He looked very much like Darla, delicate features and blue eyes, though his hair was dark and he was almost as tall as Spike.  “You aren’t what I was expecting.”  
  
“Oh.  I’m sorry.”  He stared down at his sock-covered feet, wondering why her admission hurt him.    
“No, not like that.”  She huffed out a small breath, catching his hand.  “I meant big you.  I was expecting you, just baby you.”  Her teeth caught at her bottom lip, and she shook her head.  “I’m glad you’re home.”  
  
“You are?”  He looked at her sharply then, his expression wary.  
  
“Yeah. I so am.”  Buffy stood up, reaching out to give him a hug.  “Really.  Now get some sleep.”  
  
“Okay.”  He hesitated, watching her head up the stairs.  “G’night, Mom.”  
  
Her smile widened and she replied, “Night, Connor.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
They barely made it to through the hotel lobby, before Jenner was pulling on her jeans, fumbling with the buttons and zipper.  Faith’s hands were equally busy undoing the buttons on his shirt, pushing the sleeves off his shoulders.  Their mouths were fused together, tongues battling even as they were trying to shed their clothing.  
  
Faith wormed her hand down the front of his pants, her hand wrapping around his heavy erection at the very moment Jenner finally managed to get her jeans off.  His fingers slid easily into her wet pussy, unerringly finding her clit and pressing down hard.  “You are so damn hot.”  
  
Her chuckle set frissons of awareness through his nerves, though her words had him laughing.  “You’re not so bad either, big guy.”  
  
“No, you . . . your pussy is hot.”  Jenner laughed softly, nipping at her throat.    
  
She squeezed his cock, tugging on it hard.  “It’s very pretty.  Wanna look at it?”  
  
“Mmmm.  Maybe later.”  He picked up her, sliding his hand around her thigh.  “Right now I wanna fuck it.”  
  
“So stop talking and fuck me.”  Faith wrapped both legs around his waist, her arms draped over his shoulders.  “C’mon, big guy, whatcha waiting for?”  
  
He growled into her mouth, blunt teeth biting at her lower lip.  With his hands on her ass, Jenner guided her around his erection, slowly impaling her.  “Not waiting for anything, little girl.”  
  
Once inside, Jenner set up a brutal pace, thrusting heavily up into Faith’s core.  She was tighter than he’d expected, her warmth surprising him.  He grunted and rolled his hips, unable to get inside her deep enough.  Slipping out, Jenner dropped Faith, pushing her down onto the stairs, her ass high in the air.  A wicked grin crossed his face and Jenner slapped her ass hard, instantly raising a large welt.  Faith yelped and bucked, struggling to get away from him, but Jenner had clamped his other hand around her neck, holding her still.  
  
His hand cracked down again, then slid forward to thrust into her pussy from behind. “Don’t move.”  
  
She did a fair imitation of a vampire’s growl, his name coming from her in a fury.  Her ass was flaming, his hand slapping wetly over the tender flesh.  Faith bucked again, and this time, instead of his fingers sliding into her waiting pussy, his cock slid easily, fully inside her.  
  
“Ahhh!”  Her head dropped, bumping against the staircase as Jenner thrust harder and harder.  She twisted, trying to break free, but his hand kept her pinned.  He was panting needlessly, his cool breath wafting over her back.  His hand smoothed down her back, holding onto her waist.  The slip and slide of his flesh inside hers countered their gasps of pleasure.  Jenner’s other hand slipped around, zeroing in on her clit.    
  
By the time Faith realized he wasn’t holding her still, she no longer cared.  His cock was solid inside her, splitting her heat with cool fire.  Using her hands, Faith braced herself, pushing away from the stairs, trying to find enough leverage to arch into his thrusts.  
   
The pace of his hips churning into her was brutal, his cock hitting the internal nerves that set her body ablaze.  Little grunts slipped out of her mouth and she couldn’t escape his touch.  She arched into his hand and her clit burned while his cock filled her.    
  
All her muscles seized up, tightening around his turgid erection and small shivers stole through her, rolling through the control she had, overwhelming her.  Faith screamed out his name, coming apart in his arms.  
  
Jenner stopped thrusting, pulling out of her completely. He spun her around, lifting her once more in his arms.  She was loose-limbed, sluggishly reacting to his movements.  Her soft whimper caught him by surprise and he grinned, placing a sloppy kiss on her lips.  “C’mon, baby, ride me now.”  
  
Sliding his hands beneath her thighs, Jenner spread Faith’s legs, exposing her dripping pussy to the cool air.  “Gonna make you scream again.”  
  
“Sure you will.”  She stiffened, trying to escape his hold, but Jenner arched his hips, sliding his thick cock into her.    
  
“I’ve got all night, baby.”  He stalked over to the elevator, punching in buttons.  He thrust lazily, letting her know he was still hard.  “Wanna test out the cables?”  
  
The bell rang, signaling the car’s arrival and with a smirk that rivaled another vampire’s, Jenner stepped into the elevator, grinning at Faith’s expression.    
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
He’d lit two candles and left the door to the bathroom open slightly.  Buffy could hear Spike splashing happily in the water, his low voice half-singing, half-humming as he showered.  She dismissed the thought of joining him, fatigue stealing through her body, reminding her she wasn’t alone inside her own skin.  A yawn threatened to split her head and Buffy laughed softly, wondering if she’d ever felt this kind of tired before.  Her eyes kept wanting to close at the oddest moments – nearly every time she had a quiet moment – and it was all she could do to fight the sleep that stole over her.    
  
Earlier, in the midst of the impromptu festivities, she’d jerked awake, hoping no one had seen her. Spike’s smirk and knowing twinkle had her blushing profusely, though it hadn’t been too long after when he started mentioning how tired everyone looked.  Tara had caught on quickly, doing her best to wrap things up as well.  Not that it had been all that hard.  They were all exhausted, lines of fatigue and stress written on everyone’s faces.  Getting everyone living at Revello ready to send their guests home hadn’t been difficult at all.  The only one not needing copious amounts of sleep was Spike, but she knew come first light, he’d be just as bad off as the rest of them.  
  
One good thing to come out of this – at least she didn’t have to get up and feed an infant.  A smile stole over her face and her hand drifted down to her belly.  Not for another six months or so.  The smile flattened out, as the other implications surfaced.  Being pregnant meant being seen by doctors regularly and then there was the inevitable hospital stay.  S _o not looking forward to that at all.  Maybe I can get Tara to find a midwife thingie. . . I’m healthy, I could do it.  And, hey, bonus points for not having to be in an icky hospital room.  
_  
The shower stopped, though Spike’s singing didn’t.  Her smile twitched back to life, as she recognized the tune and from her vantage point on the bed, she could see the shadow of his towel.  He stepped into the bedroom after flicking off the bathroom light.  His pale skin glowed silver in the candlelight, the dark blue towel covering his head, blocking his face from her gaze.  He was still singing, crooning about how wise men say only fools rush in, and her deep sigh finally penetrated his consciousness.  
  
“I totally never pegged you for an Elvis fan.”  There was laughter in her voice and he dropped the towel, grinning back at her.  
  
“He was amazin’, pet.  Nothing like ‘im before and damn few since.”    Spike shook his head, sending droplets of water flying all over the room, most of them landing on the bed.  
  
“Hey!”  She playfully tossed a pillow at him, and Spike retaliated by bouncing naked onto the bed.  Buffy flopped back down, good-naturedly grumbling at him, laughing louder when he prowled over the bed toward her.  
  
“We’re gonna get ourselves a king size, yeah?”  Spike pulled on Buffy’s leg, tugging her beneath him.  His eyes drank in her features, mischievous  lights sparkling in their blue depths.  “Wanna have lots of room to play.”  
  
“Really?  And how much playing do you think we’ll be doing with a new baby?”  She laughed again, seeing his momentary pout.  
  
Spike nuzzled her collarbone, licking over her slightly salty skin, nipping softly at her neck.  “Same amount as before.  Never be a moment when I’m not achin’ for you, kitten.  I’ll always want you.”  
  
“Even when I’m huge?”  Though she was laughing, Spike could sense the undercurrent lacing her question and he responded, growling against her throat.  
  
“Silly question, you daft bint.”  He kissed her, tongue crowding into her mouth, swirling a dance with hers.  He lifted himself completely off her, up on elbows and knees so he could look her in the eyes.    “Pro’ly won’t be able to keep m’ hands off you.  An’ when your tits are heavy with milk?”  The growl deepened, rumbling like thunder through his chest.  “Be fightin’ the nipper for a taste.”  
  
Despite the squickiness her head was thinking, the idea of Spike at her breast had her heart pounding and her pussy clenching around thin air.  Buffy arched up, offering those sensitive breasts to him.  Taking the hint, Spike leaned down, palming one in his hand, his tongue tracing a delicate line around her areola.  Her entire body shuddered, tensing with barely leashed desire.  Her hands scrabbled on the sheets, then reached for him.  Sliding her small hands up and down his flanks, Buffy slipped one hand between their bodies, catching his hard cock in her grasp.  
  
“God, you’re delicious.”  He licked a path between her breasts, tongue and teeth repeating his torment on her other nipple.  “Could spend the rest of m’ days tastin’ every inch of you.”  Buffy tugged on his cock, gently bringing him closer and closer to her core. “Tha’s it, baby, jus’ keep touchin’ me.”  
  
Mewling, kitten-soft noises gurgled out of her while her body undulated beneath his, seeking more contact.  “Spike, please, stop teasing me.”  
  
He chuckled around a mouthful of her breast, the noise notching her nerves higher.  “Gah!  Spike!”  
  
Dropping his lower body down to meet hers, Spike shifted his knees, opening her legs wider.  His cock brushed over her clit and the friction rocketed through her.  Every muscle and nerve ached for his touch, for the surge of his body into hers.  Buffy arched her hips, trying to capture his cock in the folds of her pussy.  He rocked over her, deliberately holding himself back, trying to prolong the pleasure.    
  
His name whimpered in the air between them, Buffy pleading with him to stop tormenting her.  “Please, _please_. . .”   She growled, writhing hard, forcing him away from her breast.  “Damn you, Spike!  Now!”  
  
Once more he slid his cock over the folds of her soaking pussy, teasing her.  Spike rolled his hips, then, before she could protest, grabbed hold of himself and thrust inside.  
  
Their bodies moved in tandem, boundless passion flowing between them, the slick and slide of his hardness into her softness notching the flames higher.  Spike pushed inside, held himself still, letting her walls contract around him, then pulled back, letting her feel the void his thickness left behind.  Buffy arched her pelvis upwards, mewling when he teased her, only entering her halfway, pulling away from her again.  
  
“Spike!”  Her fingers dug into the clenched muscles of his ass, forcing him to thrust hard into her depths.  “Stop teasing!”  
  
He had the balls to laugh at her, his forehead dropping down to meet hers.  “God, I love you.”  
  
His lips met hers and he chuckled again when she nipped him, her blunt teeth tugging on his lower lip.  Surging into her, Spike looped her knees over his elbows, pounding into her heavily.  “All right now, pet?  This enough for you?”  
  
Garbled moans issued from Buffy, and she glared at him, trying to capture his mouth with hers.  “Damn. . .  stubborn. . . stupid. . . vamp!”  
  
She shrieked the last, her voice high when he swivelled, finally hitting the soft, spongy mass of nerves he’d been teasing at since he first thrust inside her.  Her orgasm roared through her, seizing every muscle and nerve, short-circuiting her brain.  Buffy’s entire body twitched, nearly convulsing around Spike, her fingers digging hard into his ass.  Responding to the pleasure-pain of her touch, his body fed off her orgasm, triggering his own.  
  
Spike slumped bonelessly onto her, his arms dropping her legs and curling up around her to hold her close.  Aftershocks rippled through her, her muscles quaking and shivering around his slumped body.  Buffy barely managed to cling to him, her arms weakly encircling his heaving chest.  He laid tender kisses down her torso, his cock slipping out of her.  She whimpered in protest and he blew a soft breath over her belly.    
  
“Not done with you jus’ yet, love.”  His lips parted, sucking on the tender skin of her lower belly, his blunt teeth grazing over her gently.  “Love the way you taste after ‘ve been inside you.”  
  
More kisses rained on her skin, interspersed with his ribald words.  “Love tastin’ you, all hot an’ wet an’. . .  slippery, like a juicy peach.”  Trailing lower, Spike could feel her heartbeat thundering through her body, smell the renewed arousal beginning to course from her.  “Sweet, with jus’ enough salt to you, to make it interestin’.”  
  
Buffy curved her pelvis upwards, offering her drenched pussy to his mouth.  “Look how you want me, kitten.”  
  
His tongue snaked out, curling around her clit, sucking on it hard.  Buffy softly screamed out his name, body strung tight, aching for more.  Spike traced her folds, nuzzling into her, his nose bumping into the hard nubbin over and over.  He hummed into her flesh, listening to her grunt and mewl.  Her fingers sank into his curls, tugging him away and urging him closer.  Buffy spread her legs, bracing her feet so she could thrust upwards to meet his questing tongue.    
  
The scent of blood hit his senses and Spike reeled back, honing in on the source.  Buffy had bitten her lower lip and a pearl of red hovered there, tantalizing him.  His low, rumbled growl echoed in the otherwise quiet room and he licked his lips, torn between the liquid coating her pussy and the blood beckoning from her mouth.  
  
A second drop welled up from her lips and a teasing glint entered her eyes.  Buffy bit down again, knowing what the temptation was doing to him.  Every muscle was rigid with indecision, torn between her pussy and her mouth.  His nostrils flared, jaw clenching.  He ground out her name, his hands fisted at her hips.    
  
“ _Buffy_.”    
  
In answer she rubbed her foot over his throbbing cock, a wicked smile curving over her lips.  She bit her lip again, watching him from lowered lashes.    
  
“ _ **Buffy**_.”  
  
She slid her hand down her torso, tweaking a nipple on the journey southward.  Her fingers slipped easily around her folds, and her hips rose to meet her hand.  His growl deepened, chest heaving with unnecessary breaths.  Buffy writhed as her fingers found her clit, teeth still worrying at her lip.  She could see him unraveling, his control slipping by the second, and her own arousal ramped upward, matching his.  
  
One second he was mesmerized by her and the next, he was surging into her, game-faced, snapping and snarling.  His eyes glowed brilliant gold, boring steadily into her clear golden-green orbs.  Buffy wrapped her hands around his arms, feeling his cock nudge against her over-sensitized clit.   
  
 “ _Spike_!”  She screamed out his name as his cock finally stole back inside her, harder and thicker than before.    
  
He was pounding, hammering his need into her willing flesh.  Wrapping her legs around his hips, Buffy could do no more than hold on and ride out the storm of his arousal. His fangs clamped around her neck, holding her tight, though not penetrating her skin.  Buffy dug her nails into his skin, leaving half-moon marks.  Harsh gasps for air gusted over his shoulder and Spike’s hips rotated, thrusting harder and harder, the closer Buffy’s mouth got to his shoulder.    
  
The walls of her pussy constricted around him, strangling his cock tighter, rippling with her third orgasm.  Buffy keened out his name, then, as her entire body froze, her mouth descended, her teeth closing over the taut muscle of his shoulder.  Spike clamped down, fangs penetrating her skin, triggering yet another orgasm for her.  His muted roar reverberated through her body and Buffy melted beneath him.  
  
Spike collapsed onto her, pinning her to the bed.  He licked closed the bite marks, wincing in pain when Buffy kissed his shoulder.  “Sorry, kitten.”  
  
“Don’t be.  I wanted it.”  He pulled back to look at her, and she smiled shyly.  “We’ve been apart for days. . . I needed to feel you again.”  
  
He laid a sweet kiss on the tip of her nose, then laid down, with his ear over her heart.  “I love you.”  
  
“I love you, too.”  
  
They were quiet for long minutes, enough time for Buffy to drift off to sleep.  Spike shifted, dropping his head lower to hover over her belly.  He glanced up at her profile, confusion lighting his features.  He dipped closer, his ear pressed against her, listening intently.   
  
There, just under her own thundering heart, was the faintest of sounds, a soft fluttering murmur of barely-there noise.  Spike concentrated, wrapping his arm around her hips to hold her closer.  He was just about to follow Buffy into slumber when his brain registered what his ears were hearing.  
  
The rapid pitter-patter of two barely discernable heartbeats.  
  
“Kitten?”  
  
She groused at him, not wanting to be disturbed.  He shook her lightly, calling her again.  “Buffy, wake up for me.”  
  
“Don’t wanna.”  She tried rolling onto her side, but his hold on her wouldn’t budge.  “What?”  
                              
“Kitten. . . look at me.”  He stretched up, staring at her sleepy features.  “Sweetheart, you with me?”  
  
“Yup.”  He’d caught her attention now, as her sleep muddled brain acknowledged his intent expression.  “What’s up?”  
  
“Sweetheart. . .  “ He took a deep breath and laid a kiss on her belly, where the two heartbeats were strongest.  “There’re two of them.”


End file.
